University  of  California  •  Berkeley 

The 

THEODORE  H.  KOUNDAKJIAN 
COLLECTION  OF  AMERICAN  HUMOR 


THE  DORCAS  SOCIETY 

AND    OTHER    SKETCHES 


BY    7*. 

PAUL   PASTNOR 

[HUMORIST   OF   THE   BURLINGTON   FREE   PRESS] 


ST.  JOHNSBURY 
CHARLES  T.   WALTER 

1889 


COPYRIGHT,    1889,    BY    CHAS.    T.    WALTER 


The  St.  Johnsbury  (Vt.)  Republican  Press: 
Printed  by  The  Caledonia  County  Publishing  Company. 

Electrotyped  by  C.  J.  Peters  &  Son,  Boston. 


PREFATORY    NOTE. 

SOME  of  the  following  sketches  have  never  before 
been  published ;  but  most  of  them  have  appeared, 
during  the  last  few  years,  in  the  columns  of  Pdck, 
Life,  Tid  Bits,  Outing,  Detroit  Free  Press,  Drake's 
Magazine,  Burlington  Free  Press,  and  other  jour- 
nals. Most  of  the  sketches  have  been  hastily  pre- 
pared, in  intervals  of  newspaper  work,  and  the 
reader  is  asked  to  kindly  pardon  a  somewhat  care- 
less style  and  rapid  treatment  of  subject — less 
faults,  perhaps,  in  humorous  writing  than  in  any 
other. 

PAUL   PASTNOR. 

Burlington,  Vt.,  May  2,  1889. 


THE  DORCAS  SOCIETY, 

AND   OTHER  SKETCHES. 


THE     DORCAS     SOCIETY     OF     BROWN- 
INGTON. 

THE   FIRST   MEETING. 

HE  first  meeting  of  the  Dorcas  Society  of 
Brown ingtoii  was  held  at  the  house  of 
Mrs.  Dustin  Enos.  Twenty  ladies  were 
present,  and  about  fifteen  of  their  hus- 
bands congregated  in  the  barn,  and 
swapped  horses,  during  the  time  the  ladies  were 
engaged  in  their  deliberations. 

Mrs.  Dustin  Enos,  by  courtesy,  was  called  to  the 
chair.  "It  is  proposed,  ladies,"  she  said,  "  that,  as 
the  first  business  of  importance,  we  elect  officers  to 
preside  over  us,  and  transact  our  executive  affairs." 

"  Do  we  need  officers  for  a  Dorcas  Society  ? " 
inquired  Mrs.  Bogwell. 

"  It  would  be  parliamentary,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Tucker. 

1 


2  THE   DORCAS   SOCIETY. 

i 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,  —  I  think  we  could  get 
along  better  without  'em,"  protested  Mrs.  Bogwell. 

Twenty  minutes  were  exhausted  in  debating  the 
question  whether  the  society  had  better  have  any 
officers  or  not.  It  was  finally  decided,  by  a  vote  of 
twelve  to  eight,vthat  it  would  be  advisable  to  have 
officers.  A  president,  vice-president,  and  secretary 
were  accordingly  elected.  Mrs.  Enos,  though  not 
appointed  president,  continued  to  occupy  the  chair, 
until  it  was  mildly  suggested  by  the  secretary  that 
she  vacate  in  favor  of  the  president-elect.  Mrs. 
Enos  then  flounced  out  of  the  big  rocking-chair  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  blushing  painfully.  She 
remarked  that  it  was  "  her  house,  anyway,  and  she 
thought  it  was  real  mean  not  to  let  her  preside." 

Mrs.  D.  K.  Crane, -the  newly  elected  president, 
assumed  the  chair  with  becoming  dignity.  "  We 
are  met,  ladies,"  she  said,  "to  organize  a  Dorcas 
Society  for  the  town  of  Brownington.  It  has  been 
suggested  that  the  society  have  a  motto,  embodying 
in  poetical  form  its  mission  and  its  character.  I 
believe  Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner  has  drawn  up  something 
in  this  line,  which  she  will 'be  glad  to  submit  to  the 
ladies." 

Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner  took  out  her  spectacles  and 
deliberately  adjusted  them  on  her  nose.  She  then 


THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY  OF   BKOWNINGTON.        3 

opened  her  work-bag  and  drew  thence  a  roll  of 
paper,  which  she  unfolded  with  much  satisfaction. 
Then,  in  a  high  voice,  and  with  a  sing-song  tone, 
she  read  the  following,  — 

"  MOTTO   FOB  THE  DORCAS  SOCIETT. 

"  Little  pairs  of  breeches, 

Little  shirts  and  coats,  ' 
Make  the  heathen  happy, 
And  reform  the  bloats. 

"  I  had  some  reluctance,"  continued  the  blushing 
poetess,  when  the  storm  of  applause  which  followed 
her  little  effusion  had  died  away, —  "  I  had  some 
reluctance  about  penning  the  last  line.  I  was  very 
much  perplexed  to  find  a  rhyme  for  '  coats,'  so  I 
took  the  poem  to  my  husband  and  asked  him  if  he 
could  suggest  one.  He  at  once  inquired  if  we 
intended  to  include  temperance  work  in  our  pro- 
gram. I  told  him  that  we  certainly  did  ;  that  our 
field  was  the  world.  Then  he  proposed  that  the 
last  line  should  read  thus,  — 

'  And  reform  the  sots.' 

But  I  pointed  out  to  him  that  « sots,'  was  not  a  per- 
fect rhyme  for  *  coats ' ;  and  said  I,  4  Zenas,  we  must 
make  this  poem  perfect,  because  it  ain't  going  to  be' 


4  $HE  bOKCAS   SOCIETY. 

very  long,  and  what  there  is  of  it  must  be  without 
fleck  or  flaw.' 

"  4  Exactly,'  says  he.  Then  he  scratched  his  head 
for  a  minute.  '  I  have  it ! '  he  cried,  —  4  a  rhyme  as 
good  as  if  made  to  order  by  Tennyson  ;  listen,  — 

'  Little  shirts  and  coats, 

Make  the  heathen  happy, 

And  reform  the  bloats.9 

"  '  Is  that  an  elegant  term  ?  '  said  I. 

"  4  Don't  it  make  an  elegant  rhyme?'  said  he, — 
*  and  isn't  that  what  you're  after  ?  '  So  I  concluded 
that  I  would  submit  it  to  you,  ladies,  and  let  your 
judgment  decide  the  matter.  If  anybody  can  sug- 
gest a  better,  rhyme,  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  it." 
Mrs.  Skinner  moistened  the  point  of  her  pencil  in 
her  mouth,  and  awaited  developments. 

"How  would  4  boots  '  do?"  ventured  a  little  lady 
in  the  corner. 

"A  very  poor  rhyme — and  what  sort  of  sense 
would  it  make?"  sneered  Mrs.  Skinner.  "'And 
reform  the  boots,'  —  huh  !  " 

"  Mrs.  President,"  cried  an  impulsive  lady,  "  why 
hasn't  anybody  thought  of  throats?  That  would 
cover  the  whole  ground,  besides  being  an  elegant 
and  proper  word." 


THE   DOKCAS    SOCIETY   OF   BROWNINGTON.          5 

"  Throats  —  throats  —  "  reflected  the  poetess, 
scratching  her  head  with  the  end  of  her  pencil. 
" '  Make  the  heathen  happy,  and  reform  the 
throats.'  No,  I  don't  think  it  would  do,  Mrs.  Pres- 
ident. It  might  refer  to  sore  throats  or  tonsilitis 
or  diphtheria,  or  any  other  legitimate  disease  of  that 
kind.  I  still  think  that  4  bloats '  is  the  best  word. 
There  is  nothing  ambiguous  about  it." 

"Well,  does  any  lady  think  of  another  rhyme?" 
queried  Mrs.  President  Crane. 

A  few  moments  of  deep  thought  succeeded,  but 
nobody  seemed  to  capture  a  rhyme. 

"  I  think,  then,  the  motto  will  have  to  stand  as  it 
is,"  said  Mrs.  President  Crane. 

44  Will  have  to  stand,  Mrs.  President  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  author.  "  Don't  you  think  it  is  a 
good  one?" 

This  was  a  rather  embarrassing  question,  but  the 
president  artfully  dodged  it  by  calling  for  "  a  vote 
of  thanks  to  the  talented  lady  who  had  so  kindly 
and  promptly  furnished  the  society  with  a  motto." 
The  vote  was  made  by  acclamation,  and  Mrs.'Zenas 
Skinner  was  radiantly  happy.  She  walked  to  the 
secretary's  seat  with  a  bland  smile,  and  laying  the 
precious  roll  of  manuscript  in  the  centre  of  the 
record  book,  suggested  that  "  the  motto  be  en- 


6  THE  DOBCAS   SOCIETY. 

grossed  by  our  secretary,  as  handsomely  as  possible, 
upon  the  first  page  of  the  records." 

The  secretary  was  so  instructed.  But  just  then 
Mrs.  Enos's  hired  girl  eame  to  the  door  and  said 
that  the  refreshments  were  all  ready  ;  so  the  society 
adjourned  to  the  dining-room  without  the  formality 
of  a  vote. 

THE  SECOND  MEETING. 

The  Dorcas  Society  of  Brownington  held  its 
second  meeting  at  the  house  of  its  president,  Mrs. 
D.  K.  Crane.  The  day  was  drizzly  and  snowy, 
but  Mr.  Crane  had  laid  out  a  track  on  the  ice  of 
the  pond  near  by,  and  when  the  husbands  of  the 
members  of  the  society  drove  up  with  their  wives, 
he  invited  them  down  on  the  ice  to  have*  a  trot.'  In 
fact,  it  was  an  opportunity  he  had  long  been  waiting 
for,  as  he  had  a  fast  colt  and  wanted  a  chance  to  lay 
a  few  bits  on  it. 

The  ladies  took  off  their  wraps,  warmed  them- 
selves, and  then  collected  in  the  parlor,  where  the 
meeting  was  called  to  order  at  two  o'clock. 

When  the  secretary  was  asked  to  read  the  minutes 
of  the  last  meeting,  she  said  that. there  had  been 
company  at  her  house  during  the  entire  week,  and, 
as  the  hired  girl  had  seized  the  opportunity  to  leave. 


THE  DOECAS   SOCIETY  OF  BKOWNINGTON.          7 

she  had  not  had  time  to  write  her  notes  up.  She 
promised,  however,  that  she  would  take  extra  pains 
to  make  them  interesting,  and  would  read  them  the 
succeeding  week. 

As  a  compromise,  Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner  suggested 
that  the  motto  of  the  society  should  be  read,  at  all 
events  i  but  as  nobody  seconded  the  motion  it  was 
lost.  Mrs.  Skinner  then  wanted  to  know  if  the 
secretary  had  engrossed  the  motto  in  the  record 
book,  as  instructed  ?  The  secretary  replied  that  her 
domestic  cares  had  prevented  the  performance  of 
any  literary  work,  whatever,  during  the  week  past. 
Whereupon  Mrs.  Skinner  proposed  that  a  new  secre- 
tary be  elected  who  could  devote  some  time,  at  least, 
to  the  duties  of  her  office.  This  motion  also  was 
lost. 

Mrs.  Enos  inquired  if  the  Society  was  to  have  a 
constitution  ?  The  question  was  put  to  vote  and  it 
was  decided  that  a  constitution  was  not  necessary. 
Mrs.  Bogwell  declared  that  she  "  didn't  see  what 
help  a  constitution,  or  officers  either,  would  be  in 
making  shirts  arid  pants  for  the  heathen  and  the 
poor."  Mrs.  Tucker  replied  that  organization  was 
always  a  great  power  for  good,  and  that,  in  general,  * 
the  more  intellectuality  that  could  be  infused  into 
work  of  any  kind,  the  better  its  products  would  be ; 


8  THE  DOECAS   SOCIETY. 

and  she  instanced  the  great  improvement  in  fashion 
plates  since  women  had  been  admitted  to  colleges, 
and  society  had  become  freckled  with  Browning 
circles. 

Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner  thought  that  the  intellectual- 
ity of  the  Dorcas  Society  was  equal  to  a  poetical 
constitution,  and  she  moved  that  such  a  constitution 
be  drawn  up.  President  Crane  reminded  her  that 
the  motion  to  have  a  constitution  of  any  sort  had 
been  lost.'  Mrs.  Skinner  acknowledged  that  it  had, 
but  professed  her  readiness  to  compose  a  poetical 
constitution  at  any  time,  and  upon  any  subject.  She 
already  had,  she  said,  the  beginning  of  one  m  her 

mind,  — 

"  The  Dorcas  Society  of  Brownington, 

The  name  of  it  shall  be; 
Its  object,  to  make  shirts  and  pants; 

Its  officers  shall  be  three,  — 
President,  vice-president,  and  sec  —  " 

"Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner  will  please  come  to  order  !  " 
cried  Mrs.  President  Crane.  "  It  has  been  voted  that 
we  shall  not  have  a  constitution  at  all ;  and  as  there 
is  important  business  still  to  come  before  the  soci- 
ety, and  the  hour  is  getting  late,  I  think  we  had 
better  postpone  this  "informal  discussion  until  some 
future  time." 

Mrs.  Skinner  moved  that  the  matter  be  laid  upon 


THE  DOKCAS   SOCIETY  OP   BROWNINGTON. 

the  table  until  the  next  meeting;  and  it  was  so 
voted  (with  great  reluctance)  as  the  only  feasible 
method  of  inducing  Mrs.  Skinner  to  subside. 

Mrs.  Emory  Watkins  then  rose  and  begged  leave 
to  inquire  the  object  of  the  Dorcas  Society?  The 
President  replied  that  it  was  very  well  and  succinct- 
ly stated  in  the  motto,  — 

"  Little  pairs  of  breeches, 
Little  shirts  and  coats.'* 

44  What  about  '  little  pairs  of  breeches,  little  shirts 
and  coats?'  "  persisted  Mrs.  Watkins. 

44  Why  make  'em,  of  course !  "  cried  Mrs.  Deacon 
Tucker.  "  Anybody  would  know  that  was  what 
was  meant." 

44  Well,  then,  why  don't  we  do  it?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Watkins. 

This  was  something  of  a  poser,  and  was  succeeded 
by  a  brief  silence,  during  which  the  excited  shouts 
and  yells  of  the  men-folks  v-acing  horses  down  on  the 
pond  could  be  distinctly  heard. 

44 1  suppose  it  is  because  we  aren't  fully  organized 
yet,"  replied  Mrs.  President  Crane. 

44  Well,  for  mercy's  sake,  how  much  longer  is  it 
going  to  j  take  to  get  organized,  I  should  like  to 
know?"  indignantly  demanded  Mrs.  Bogwell,  "I 


10  THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY.       - 

said  in  the  first  place  that  we  could  get  along  better 
and  do  more  work  without  any  organization." 

"  But  not  without  a  motto  ?  "  interposed  Mrs.  Zenas 
Skinner. 

"  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Bogwell,  doubtfully.  "  I  sup- 
pose a  motto  is  well  enough,  if  we  could  only  let  it 
rest  now  that  we  have  got  it." 

"  Order  !  —  order,  ladies  !  "  exclaimed  the  presi- 
dent. "We  really  must  get  to  business,  or  we 
shan't  have  time  to  do  a  thing  before  refresh- 
ments. 

("Well,  I'm  glad  she's  got  us  something  to  eat, 
anyway,"  whispered  the  practical  Mrs.  Bogwell  to 
her  next  neighbor.  "  I'm  sick  and  tired  of  all  this 
intellectuality") 

"  Well,  what  business  is  there  to  be  done  ?  "  in* 
quired  the  obstructionist,  Mrs.  Emory  Watkins. 

"  Why,  I  suppose  we  must  get  fully  organized," 
replied  the  president. 

"I  don't  see  but  what  we  are  fully  organized," 
replied  Mrs.  Watkins.  "  We've  got  a  motto  and  three 
officers,  and  if  that  ain't  enough  intellectuality  for 
makin'  a  pair  of  pants,  then  I  don't  know  anything 
about  pants." 

Mrs.  Skinner  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Mrs.  Deacon 
Tucker,  that  she  didn't  believe  Mrs.  Watkins  did 


THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY   OF   BROWNINGTON.        11 

know  anything  about  pants,  if  her  husband's  clothes 
were  anything  to  judge  by. 

Just  then  there  was  a  great  hullabaloo  in  the  yard, 
and  the  ladies  distinctly  heard  Deacon  Tucker  call 
Mr.  Crane  a  "  condemned  horse  jockey,  anyway !  " 
Whereupon  Mr.  Crane  assured  the  deacon  that  his 
character  was  not  altogether  without  blemish,  and 
that  it  would  afford  him  the  greatest  pleasure  to  met 
him  (the  deacon)  behind  the  barn,  or  anywhere  else, 
privately.  The  Deacon  replied  that  if  he  were  not 
a  pillar  of  the  church,  he  would  be  most  happy  to  ac- 
commodate Mr.  Crane,  and  had  no  doubt  he  should 
be  able  to  return  any  compliments  of  his  in  the  most 
satisfactory  manner. 

This  little  altercation  woke  up  the  Dorcas  Society 
like  a  mouse,  and  the  worthy  ladies  rushed  out  to 
quiet  the'ir  lords,  and  separate  the  irascible  Deacon 
Tucker  and  the  wily  Mr.  Crane. 


THE  THIRD  MEETING. 

Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner  entertained  the  Dorcas  So- 
ciety of  Brownington,  at  its  third  meeting.  Mrs. 
Skinner  had  been  petitioning  for  the  honor  ever 
since  the  organization  of  the  society,  but  it  was  only 
by  the  utmost  perseverance  and  importunity  that  she 


12  THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY. 

obtained  it  at  last ;  for  everybody  feared  that  if  the 
good  lady  once  secured  a  sort  of  purchase  on  the 
Dorcas  sisters,  by  virtue  of  her  hospitality,  she 
would  use  it  with  a  royal  vengeance,  and  perhaps 
inflict  bushels  of  poetry  and  unlimited  quantities  of 
parliamentary  advice  upon  them.  The  precedent  set 
by  Mrs.  Dustin  Enos  —  who  was  unwilling  to  resign 
the  chair,  you  will  remember,  because  the  first  meet- 
ing of  the  society  was  held  at  her  house  —  lingered 
in  the  minds  of  the  sisterhood.  It  was,  therefore, 
with  many  misgivings,  and  no  little  apprehension, 
that .  the  worthy  ladies  who  composed  this  most  use- 
ful and  benevolent  body  gathered  on  the  afternoon  of 
the  appointed  day,  at  the  trim  little  cottage  of  Mrs. 
Skinner.  That  lady,  resplendent  in  a  new  figured 
gown,  and  a  darling  little  cap  with  pink  bows, 
received  them,  all  smiles  and  sweetness,  and  con- 
ducted them  into  her  parloi*.  Like  almost  all  liter- 
ary ladies,  however,  she  was  so  forgetful  of  the 
gentlemen  as  not  to  have  provided  a  single  resource 
for  their  entertainment ;  and  as  Mr.  Skinner  had  no 
iiorse  to  race,  or  swap,  and  not  even  a  barn  to  keep 
a  horse  in,  the  lords  of  creation  who  brought  their 
wives  to  the  meeting  were  obliged  to  drive  home 
again,  without  even  an  invitation  to  return  in  time 
for  refreshments.  Mrs.  Skinner,  however,  was  not 


THE   DORCAS   SOCIETY  OF   BROWNINGTON.        13 

at  all  annoyed  by  their  remarks.  She  cared  not  a 
fig  for  all  the  men  and  all  masculine  opinions, 
this  side  of  the  garden  of  Eden.  If  she  could  but 
get  a  choice  company  of  female  spirits  together,  it 
was  immaterial  to  her  by  what  accessory  means  they 
were  assembled. 

Promptly  on  the  stroke  of  two  o'clock,  Mrs.  D.  K. 
Crane  called  the  meeting  to  order.  Mi's.  Skinner 
was  observed  to  nod  approvingly.  This  was  encour- 
aging—  and  discouraging,  too.  Mrs.  Skinner  had 
never  been  observed  to  make  such  a  demonstration 
before ;  it  might  mean  good,  it  might  bode  evil. 

"  At  the  close  of  our  last  meeting,  I  believe,"  said 
Mrs.  President  Crane,  "  tl\e  question  was  before  us, 
whether  or  not  we  were  sufficiently  organized.  I 
presume  it  will  be  in  order  to  make  this  question 
our  first  business." 

"Beg  pardon,  Mrs.  President!"  exclaimed  the 
secretary,  starting  up.  "  I  have  got  those  notes 
written  up  at  last,  and  — " 

"  O  sure  enough  !  sure  enough !  "  cried  the  presi- 
dent, blushing.  "I  declare,  I  forgot  all  about  the 
minutes.  Will  the  secretary  please  read  them." 

The  secretary  wiped  her  spectacles,  hemmed  and 
hawed,  and  began  to  read.  The  minutes  slipped  by 
—  five,  ten,  twelve,  fifteen,  slipped  into  the  great 


14  THE  DORCAS  SOCIETY. 

shoreless  sea  of  the  past.  Still  the  secretary  read 
on.  She  had  evidently  concentrated  all  her  energies 
upon  this  literary  performance.  It  was  to  be  the 
crowning  achievement  of  her  life.  She  had  never 
been  a  secretary  before,  and  she  did  not  know  how 
long  it  would  be  before  she  would  cease  to  be  a  sec- 
retary. She  was  bound  to  make  the  most  of  it  while 
it  lasted. 

Mrs.  Skinner  looked  at  the  clock.  Half  an  hour 
since  the  meeting  was  called  to  order.  Half  an 
hour !  —  and  she  had  so  much  to  say,  to  read,  to 
suggest,  to  propound,  to  criticise !  Besides,  Mrs. 
Skinner  had  always  had  a  prejudice  against  the  sec- 
retary, because  the  latter  did  not  fall  down  and  wor- 
ship the  motto  of  the  society.  It  was  unendurable. 

"  Mrs.  President  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Skinner, 
rising  to  her  feet. 

The  secretary  looked  over  her  spectacles  in  amaze- 
ment and  vexation. 

"  The  secretary  has  the  floor,  Mrs.  Skinner,"  said 
Mrs.  President  Crane,  evasively. 

"Yes,  but  hasn't  she  had  it  long  enough?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Skinner. 

"  Question  !  question  !  "  called  a  lady  in  .the  back 
part  of  the  room,  who  had  heard  her  husband  make 
such  a  remark  in  a  public  meeting. 


THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY  OF  BEOWNINGTON.        15 

"There's  no  question  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Presi- 
dent Crane,  decidedly.  "  The  secretary  has  the 
floor,  and  she  is  entitled  to  it  till  she  gets  through." 

At  this,  the  secretary,  with  great  composure,  re- 
sumed reading.  This  drove  Mrs.  Skinner  nearly 


frantic.  "  Mrs.  President ! "  she  screamed,  "  I'd 
like  to  know  whose  house  this  is,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Order !  order !  "  cried  Mrs.  President  Crane, 
pounding  her  chair.  "  Go  on,  Mrs.  Secretary." 

"  How  near  done  are  you,  anyway  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Skinner,  stepping  forward  to  look  in  the  book. 


16  THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY. 

"  Goodness  gracious,  ladies !  she's  got  two  pages 
more  of  the  stuff.  I  move  that  we  elect  a  new 
secretary." 

"  Second  the  motion  !  "  cried  a  voice  from  the  rear 
of  the  room. 

Then  arose  such  a  hubbub  as  has  not  been  heard 
since  the  bricklayers  on  the  tower  of  Babel  struck. 
It  was  undeniable  that  a  motion  had  been  made  and 
seconded;  but  whether  it  was  parliamentary  to 
make  a  motion  while  somebody  else  had  the  floor  — 
that  was  the  question. 

"I  call  for  the  question!"  screamed  Mrs.  Skinner. 

"  Hold  on  ;  it  isn't  parliamentary  !  "  hooted  Mrs. 
Watkins. 

"Tis  too!" 

«  'Tisn't !  " 

"  Order  !  "  —  from  the  president. 

"  Question  !  "  from  five  or  six  voices. 

"  Order  !  "  from  twice  as  many  others. 

The  sentiment  of  the  meeting  finally  restored 
comparative  quiet,  in  the  midst  of  which  it  was 
observed  that  the  secretary  was  putting  on  her 
things  to  leave,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  grief 
and  rage  upon  her  countenance  which  was  simply 
heart-rending. 

"  Why,  where  are  you  going,  Mrs.  Secretary  ? " 
inquired  the  president,  pathetically. 


THE  DORCAS  SOCIETY  OF  BKOWHIKGTOtf.       IT 

The  secretary  made  no  reply,  but  picking  up  her 
work-bag,  full  of  personal  stationery,  and  slamming 
together  the  record  book  upon  the  desk,  'sailed 
majestically  out  of  the  room. 

"  Now,  see  what  you  have  done !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Bogwell. 

"  See  what  who  has  done  ? "  demanded  Mrs. 
Skinner. 

"  You,"  retorted  half  a  dozen  of  the  secretary's 
private  friends. 

"  Well,  I'd  like  to  know  whose  house  this  is,  any- 
way ?  "  exclaimed  the  insulted  poetess,  raising  her 
voice. 

This  was  a  poser.  It  seems  to  be  a  general 
impression  among  the  gentler  sex  that  a  woman  can 
do  just  about  as  she  pleases  in  her  own  house.  All 
laws  of  order  and  priority  have  to  give  way  before 
the  imperial  rights  of  a  woman  under  her  own  roof. 

"  I  think  all  this  sort  of  thing  has  gone  about  far 
enough,"  said  Mrs.  Watkins,  the  obstructionist,  ris- 
ing and  addressing  her  crestfallen  sisters.  "  Four 
weeks  ago  we  started  a  benevolent  society  for  the 
simple  purpose  of  making  clothes  for  the  suffering 
poor  in  this  town.  That  —  as  I  take  it  —  was  our 
sole  and  only  object ;  if  it  wasn't,  it  ought  to  have 
been.  Well,  now,  what  have  we  accomplished? 


18  THE   DORCAS   SOCIETY. 

"We  have  got  a  motto "  (Mrs.  Squires  nodded 
approvingly),  "we  have  got  a  president,  a  vice- 
president,  and  a  —  well,  no,  I  don't  know  as  we 
have  either.  So  far  so  good  —  but  meanwhile  as  to 
our  avowed  object.  Have  we  made  a  single  pair  of 
pants?  Have  we  made  a  single  shirt  or  coat? — 
much  less  reformed  a  single  bloat?  No?  well,  I 
guess  we  haven't.  Yesterday,  a  poor  woman  came 
to  me  and  asked  me  if  our  new  Dorcas  Society 
couldn't  let  her  have  a  few  little  frocks  and  coats 
for  her  children,  to  keep  'em  from  freezing.  What 
did  I  have  to  tell  her,  ladies  ?  I  had  to  tell  her  that 
we  weren't  organized  yet !  yes,  I  did.  I  told  her 
that  if  she  would  come  around  some  time  next  June, 
we  might  perhaps  give  her^a  few  warm  frock^  and 
coats  —  yes,  I  did.  And  meanwhile  I  gave  her 
what  I  had  in  the  house  myself.  Now,  I  submit 
that  this  sort  of  thing  is  scandalous  —  ridiculous, 
ladies !  If  we  are  going  to  have  a  debating  or  liter- 
ary society,  why  not  —  " 

44  The  taters  and  sassengers  is  done  to  a  turn, 
muin,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Skinner's  hired  girl,  thrust- 
ing her  head  in  at  the  door. 

"  Very  well ;  ladies,  we  must  adjourn,"  said  Mrs. 
Skinner.  "  Cold  fried  potatoes  aren't  fit  for  a  cat  to 
eat." 


THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY  OF   BROWNINGTON.       19 
THE   FOURTH   MEETING. 

The  fourth  meeting  of  the  Dorcas  Society  of 
Brownington,  at  Mrs.  Bogwell's  house,  was  an  occa- 
sion of  mingled  joy  and  sorrow.  The  organization 
had  reached  the  fourth  week  of  its  existence,  and 
still  lived  to  prosecute  its  noble  work;  but  it  had 
lost  its  faithful  secretary  and  also  its  vice-president. 
The  latter  —  a  personal  friend  of  the  retiring  sec- 
retary —  having  taken  umbrage  at  wha,t  she  con- 
sidered the  society's  shameful  treatment  of  her 
coadjutor,  had  resigned  her  connection  with  the 
organization,  not  formally,  for  a  woman  never 
resigns  or  accepts  an  office  formally,  but  by  affirm- 
ing to  several  of  its  members  in  private,  that  she 
didn't  want  anything  more  to  do  with  the  nasty 
thing,  so  there !  With  its.  ranks  thus  decimated, 
and  a  depressing  sense  of  trouble  yet  to  come,  the 
Dorcas  Society  assembled  on  a  bleak  Thursday  in 
March,  in  the  parlors  of  the  hospitable  Mrs. 
Bogwell. 

The  hum  of  conversation  was  so  low  when  Mrs. 
President  Crane  struck  the  table  with  the  under 
side  of  her  fist,  that  the  crash  of  a  large  and  valua  - 
ble  sea-shell  falling  off  upon  the  floor  was  distinctly 
audible.  So  deep  was  the  sense  of  apprehension 


20  THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY. 

that  the  ladies  came  immediately  to  order,  a  thing 
never  heard  of  before  in  a  meeting  of  the  gentler 
sex.  Only  the  mournful  click,  click  of  the  broken 
pieces  of  sea-shell,  as  Mrs.  Bogwell  gathered  them 
into  a  plate,  broke  the  silence. 

"  Ladies,"  said  Mrs.  President  Crane,  "  this  is  a 
solemn  and  important  occasion.  The  deliberations 
of  the  present  meeting  will  probably  decide  whether 
the  Dorcas  Society  of  Brownington  shall  continue 
its  stormy  existence,  hoping  for  a  quiet  port  and 
calm  anchorage  by  and  by,  or  shall  founder  here  and 
now  in  the  mid-ocean  of  trial  and  disappointment. 
We  are  still  unorganized ;  we  have  lost  two  of  our 
most  trusty  and  faithful  officers ;  there  is  a  spirit,  I 
am  afraid,  of  dissatisfaction  —  not  to  say  mutiny  — 
among  some  of  our  members.  The  winter  is  rapidly 
passing,  and  we  have  not  relieved  the  sufferings  of 
the  thinly  clad  of  this  village  to  any  very  great 
extent.  I  will  admit  that  we  have  a  motto  and  — 
and  a  president ;  but  that  is  all  we  have  left  —  " 

At  {his  juncture  Mrs.  Skinner  interrupted  the 
remarks  of  the  president  with  a  motion  to  the  effect 
that  the  motto  of  the  society  be  read ;  but  the 
motion  was  overruled  by  spontaneous  signs  of  dis- 
approbation on  the  part  of  the  other  ladies  present, 
and  the  president  continued  her  remarks. 


THE  DORCAS  SOCIETY  OF  BROWNINGTON.        21 

"  As  I  was  saying,  ladies,  we  have  nothing  but  a 
motto  and  a  president  left.  Now  the  question 
which  comes  before  us  to-day,  and  which  will  decide 
whether  we  sink  or  swim,  survive  or  perish,  is  this, 

—  shall  we  elect  new  officers  to  fill  the  places  of  our 
departed  sisters,  or  shall  we  forthwith  adjourn  sine 
die,  and  give  up  the  project  of  establishing  a  Dorcas 
Society  in  Brownington  ?  " 

"  I  move  you,  Mrs.  President,  that  we  elect  a  new 
secretary  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner.  There 
was  a  moment's  pause,  and  then  somebody  seconded 
the  motion. 

"  It's  parliamentary,  you  know,"  whispered  Mrs. 
Skinner  to  her  next  neighbor,  so  loudly  that  she 
could  be  heard  in  the  remotest  corner  of  the  room, 

—  "  it's  parliamentary  to  nominate  first  the  one  who 
makes  the  motion." 

"Is  that  so?"  asked  the  president  with  an 
expression  of  deep  concern  and  alarm,  glancing 
around  the  circle  of  ladies. 

"Seems  to  me  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Watkins,  sadly. 
"  I  have  a  dim  recollection  of  having  read  or  heard 
something  of  the  sort." 

Mrs.  Skinner's  face  glowed  like  a  Lake  Cham- 
plain  sunset.  "  I  call  for  the  motion  !  "  she  cried. 

*4  Well,  ladies,"  said  Mrs.  President  Crane,  "  it  is. 


22  THE  DORCAS    SOCIETY. 

moved  and  seconded  that  we  elect  a  new  secretary. 
As  many  of  you  as  will  so  order,  please  raise  the 
right  hand."  About  two-thirds  of  the  hands  came 
up.  "  It  is  so  ordered.  Now  whom  will  you  nomi- 
nate for  secretary  ?  " 

Mrs.  Skinner  looked  sharply  and  ominously 
around  the  circle,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Now  if  you 
don't  nominate  me,  ladies,  I'll  raise  such  a  row  as 
was  never  heard  of  in  a  parliamentary  body  be- 
fore I" 

"I  nominate  Mrs.  Skinner,"  said  a  faint  voice 
from  under  the  mantel-piece.  "  Second  the  nomina- 
tion," said  another  faint  voice  from  the  corner. 

"  Mrs.  Skinner  is  nominated  to  fill  the  place  of 
secretary  in  the  society,"  said  Mrs.  President  Crane. 
"  As  many  of  you  as  will  so  order,  please  raise  your 
right  hands."  The  same  two-thirds'  show  of  hands 
came  up  again,  Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner's  quickest  and 
highest  of  all.  <  "  Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner  is  elected." 

Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner  rose,  her  face  beaming  with 
smiles,  and,  with  little  bows  of  acknowledgment 
right  and  left,  threaded  her  way  to  'the  secretary's 
table.  Here  she  proudly  seated  herself  and  drew 
forth  an  extensive  collection  of  hers,  pencils  and 
paper,  which  showed  that  the  result -of  the  election 
h.ad  not  been  altogether  unexpected  pi*,  ker  part. 


- 
THE  DORCAS  SOCIETY  OF  BROWNINGTON.        23 

Selecting  a  well-sharpened  Faber,  she  laid  a  sheet  of 
foolscap  before  her,  and  proceeded  to  chronicle  her 
own  election. 

"  It  will  now  be  in  order  to  elect  a  new  vice-presi- 
dent," said  Mrs.  President  Crane.  "Whom  will 
you  nominate  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  President,"  said  Mrs.  Secretary  Skinner, 
laying  down  her  pen,  and  rising  with  dignity;  "I 
would  nominate  a  lady  not  present  to-day,  who,  I 
think,  possesses  more  qualifications  for  a  vice-presi- 
dent than  any  other  lady  in  this  town,  inasmuch  as 
she  has  been  twice  divorced,  has  had  lots  of  scandal 
attached  to  her  name,  and  if  there  are  any  other 
vices  peculiar  to  our  sex,  is  not,  so  far  as  T  am 
aware,  destitute  of  any  one  of  them." 

"  For  shame  !  "  exclaimed  the  whole  society  with 
one  voice. 

"I  should  just  like  to  know  why?  "  screamed  Mrs. 
Skinner,  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult.  "Mrs.  Presi- 
dent, I  appeal  to  you  —  is  not  that  the  popular  deri- 
vation and  meaning  of  the  word  vice-president?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not !  "  replied  Mrs.  President  Crane, 
decidedly. 

"  Well,  I  should  just  like  to  know  what  it  is  de- 
rived from,  then  ?  "  inquired  the  secretary.  "  Can 
you  tell  me,  Mrs.  President?" 


24  THE  DOHCAS   SOCIETY. 

"  Certainly,  I  —  well,  let  me  see  —  I  think  it 
comes  from  —  no,  it  doesn't  either  —  Can  any  lady 
present  enlighten  Mrs.  Skinner  with  regard  to  the 
derivation  of  the  word  vice-president  ?  " 

Mrs.  Skinner  seized  her  pencil,  and  sat  defiantly 
waiting.  No  reply  was  vouchsafed  to  the  presi- 
dent's appeal.  "Well,  what  does  it  come  from?" 
urged  the  secretary. 

Silence  was  the  only  response. 

u  Very  well,"  said  the  unassailable  secretary. 
"Nobody  can  tell  what  it  comes  from.  How  can 
anybody  deny  that  it  comes  from  what  I  said  it  did 
—  from  itself,  from  the  English  word  '  vice,'  com- 
pounded with  'president  ? ' ' 

Nobody  could  deny  it. 

"  Now  Mrs.  President,"  said  Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner, 
"  I  present  the  name  of  Mrs.  Elihu-Jonas  Babcock, 
as  the  nominee  for  the  office  of  vice-president  of  this 
society. 

"  Second  the  nomination,"  said  Mrs.  Watkins,  the 
obstructionist,  who  was  completely  overawed  by  the 
business  capacity  and  tenacity  of  the  new  secretary. 

The  nomination  was  put  to  vote,  and  the  singu- 
larly suitable  Mrs.  Elihu-Jonas  Babcock  was  elected 
vice-president  of  the  Society. 

"  Mrs.  President,"  said  Mrs.  Watkins,  rising,  "  J 


THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY  OF  BROWNINGTON.        25 

have  a  long  list  of  applications  for  clothing  from  the 
suffering  poor  of  Brownington,  which  I  should  like 
to—" 

"  Ladies ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bogwell,  who  had 
stolen  from  the  room  a  few  moments  previous,  "  I 
do  hate  to  interrupt  you,  but  it  is  either  cold  corn- 
cake  or  no  more  deliberation.  Take  your  choice. " 

The  society  immediately  adjourned. 

THE  FIFTH  AND  LAST  MEETING. 

Mrs.  Deacon  Tucker's  hospitable  home  received 
the  sisters  of  the  Dorcas  Society  at  their  next  meet- 
ing, which,  owing  to  unforeseen  events,  did  not  occur 
until  the  first  week  in  April.  It  was  a  beautiful 
sunshiny  day,  and  spears  of  green  were  thrusting  up 
everywhere  amid  the  brown  grass.  The  attendance, 
however,  was  not  as  large  as  usual,  and  the  ladies, 
with  the  exception  of  Mrs.  Skinner,  seemed  to  be 
despondent  and  non-committal. 

The  meeting  was  called  to  order  by  Mrs.  President 
Crane,  at  the  usual  hour,  two  o'clock.  When  the 
minutes  of  last  meeting  were  called  for,  Mrs.  Skin- 
ner, the  new  secretary,  responded  with  alarming 
promptness,  and  the  ladies  were  horrified  beyond 
measure,  to  hear  her  launch  into  hexameters  with 


26  THE   DOKCAS   SOCIETY. 

alternate  rhymes,  she  having  thrown  her  report  into 
the  sublime  form  of  poetry. 

The  reading  of  this  metrical  chronicle  was,  not 
completed  until  twenty  minutes  of  three,  and  when 
the  secretary  at  last  sat  down,  a  long-drawn  sigh  of 
relief  escaped  the  bosoms  of  all  present. 

Mrs.  Watkins  rose.  "  Mrs.  President  "  she  said, 
"  I  endeavored  to  present,  at  the  last  meeting,  a  list 
of  applications  for  clothing  from  the  suffering  poor 
of  this  town,  but  was  prevented  by  the  sudden  ad- 
journment of  the  society  for  refreshments.  It  was 
very  late  in  the  season  then,  and  I  now' rejoice  to 
say  that  all  necessity  for  extra  clothing  has  been 
mercifully  removed  by  the  advancing  spring,  so  that, 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  the  mission  of  the  Dorcas  Society 
of  Brownington  is  accomplished.  I  have  the  list  of 
applications  with  me,  but  as  it  has  now  become  obso- 
lete I  shall  ask  the  society's  permission  to  destroy  it.'* 

Mrs.  President  Crane  blushed  visibly.  "  We 
were  so  long  getting  organized,"  she  said,  "  and 
attending  to  other  necessary  parliamentary  matters, 
that  I  am  afraid  we  did  not  get  to  work  with  our 
needles  as  early  as  we  ought." 

"No,  and  we  haven't  done  any  very  remarkable 
temperance  work,  either,"  said  Mrs.  Bogwell,  more 
in  sorrow  than  in  anger.  "  In  fact,  I  may  say  we 


THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY  OF  BRO  WNINGTON.       27 

have  done  none  at  all.  And  if  I  should  tell  the 
whole  truth,  I  am  afraid  I  should  be  obliged  to  con- 
fess, that  we  have  done  nothing  at  all,  in  any  direc- 
tion." 

"  I  think  we  have  accomplished  something  in  the 
literary  line,"  remarked  Mrs.  Zenas  Skinner,  com- 
placently. 

"Well,/ don't!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Deacon  Tucker, 
sotto  voce. 

"  I  have  done  what  I  could  during  the  winter  to 
keep  up  the  credit  of  the  society,"  resumed  Mrs. 
Bogwell,  "  and  I  must  give  Mrs.  Watkins  credit  for 
having  done  as  much,  if  not  more.  Together,  I 
think  we  have  given  away  at  least  a  dozen  pairs  of 
pants  and  seven  or  eight  coats,  not  to  mention  frocks 
for  the  children  and  underclothing.  And  this,  too, 
without  interfering  seriously  with  our  literary  duties 
and  privileges  in  this  society.  But  we  have  not 
done  what  we  might  have  done,  and  ought  to  have 
done,  because  we  have  allowed  ourselves  too  many 
parliamentary  and  intellectual  distractions.  As  for 
our  temperance  work,  speaking  for  myself,  I  will  say 
that  that,  unlike  my  charity,  has  been  home  work. 
I  hesitate,  of  course,  to  speak  of  domestic  matters  in 
a  public  place  like  this,  and  yet  it  may  be  some  en- 
couragement for  the  sisters  to  go  and  do  likewise, 


28  THE  DOKCAS   SOCIETY. 

if  I  tell  you  that  during  the  winter  I  have  spilled 
two  barrels  of  cider  and  broken  nine  new  bottles  of 
Granite  and  Rye  Tonic  Bitters.  I  have  also  given 
my  husband  to  understand  that,  if  he  does  not  wish 
to  begin  the  use  of  Dr.  Grougham's  Hair  Restorer 
before  he  is  fifty  years  old,  he  must  wear  nothing 
heavier  than  a  handkerchief  in  his  hat.  I  think  he 
understands  me  pretty  well.  And  now,  ladies,  I 
have  told  you  the  practical  work  I  have  been  en- 
gaged in  during  the  winter.  My  only  regret  is  that 
I  have  allowed  the  Dorcas  Society  to  hamper  my 
usefulness,  and  in  order  that  it  may  do  so  in  the 
future  no  more,  I  hereby  tender  my  resignation  from 
its  membership,  to  take  effect  at  the  present  moment. 
I  wish  you  all  good  afternoon,  ladies,  and  a  pleasant 
parliamentary  session." 

So  saying,  Mrs.  Bogwell  marched  out  of  the  room, 
got  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  went  home. 

"  I  should  also  like  to  resign,"  said  Mrs.  Watkins, 
rising  as  Mrs.  Bogwell  left  the  room.  "And  me 
too  !  —  and  me  too  !  "  —  exclaimed  six  or  seven 
ladies  in  different  parts  of  the  room. 

"  I  hope,  ladies,"  said  Mrs.  Deacon  Tucker,  with 
evident  anxiety,  "that  you  won't  all  leave  before 
refreshments."  At  this,  several  of  the  ladies,  who 
had  risen  to  their  feet,  sat  down  again. 


THE  DORCAS  SOCIETY  OF  BROWNINGTON.        29 

"  There  seems  to  be  a  general  desire  on  the  part 
of  the  members  of  the  Dorcas  Society,"  said  Mrs. 
President  Crane,  "  to  resign  the  benevolent  work  for 
which  we  have  organized  ourselves,  and  pursue  our 
charities  and  philanthropies  individually  instead  of 
corporally."  (Here  Mrs.  Skinner  stopped  writing, 
and  looked  at  the  president  with  intense  admira- 
tion). "Such  being  the  case,  and  the  severe  wea- 
ther being  now  past  "  — 

"And  house  cleaning  at  hand,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Watkins. 

.  "  True  —  and  house  cleaning  being  at  hand,  I  would 
suggest  that  we  —  not  exactly  break  up,  but  adjourn 
sine  die." 

"  Second  the  motion ! "  exclaimid  ten  or  twelve 
voices. 

"  It  isn't  a  motion  ! "  cried  the  president,  excit- 
edly. "  It  would  not  be  parliamentary  for.  the  pre- 
siding officer  to  make  a  motion." 

"Well,  then,  /make  it!"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
malcontents. 

"And  I  second  it!"  said  Mrs.  Watkins,  with  de- 
cided emphasis. 

"It  is  moved  and  seconded,"  said  Mrs.  President 
Crane,  "that  the  Dorcas  Society  of  Brownington 
adjourn  sine  die.  All  who  will  so  order  say  aye." 


30  THE  DORCAS   SOCIETY. 

"  Hold  on  a  minute  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Deacon  Tucker. 
"  What  does  sine  die  mean  ?  " 

"  Without  a  day,"  replied  Mrs.  President  Crane. 

"  I  move  that  the  motion  be  amended  to  read  4  or 
night  either,' "  said  Mrs'.  Watkins.  "  We  want  to  fix 
things  so  that  we  can't  get  together  again  on  any 
pretext." 

"  I  accept  the  amendment !  "  cried  the  lady  who 
had  made  the  motion. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  President  Crane.  "  It  is 
moved  that  the  Dorcas  Society  of  Brownington, 
adjourn  without  day,  or  night  either.  All  those  in 
favor  will  say  aye." 

"AYE!" 

"  Contrary  minded,  no." 

"  No  !  "  said  Secretary  Skinner. 

"The  ayes  have  it,  and  the  society  will  adjourn 
without  day,  or  night." 

"And  now,  ladies,"  cried  Mrs.  Deacon  Tucker, 
"  if  you  will  all  adjourn  to  the  dining-room  "  — 

"  One  moment,  please  !  "  It  was  Secretary  Skin- 
ner, who  had  risen  with  a  sheet  of  foolscap  in  her 
hand.  "  My  husband  said  he  thought  like  as  not 
we  would  break  up  inside  of  two  weeks,  and  one 
evening,  while  I  was  writing  up  the  records  and  he 
was  rocking  the  baby  and  mending  his  stockings,  he 


DOECAS  SOCIETY  01*  EKOWNItfGtOtf.        31 


said  that  a  little  piece  of  poetry  had  popped  into 
his  mind,  which  he  would  like  to  have  me  set  down 
and  read  to  the  society  when  it  'collapsed.'  I 
promised  that  I  would,  and  here  it  is,  — 

'EPITAPH  FOB  THE  DORCAS  SOCIETY. 

'Here  lies  the  Brownington  Dorcas  Society  ; 
It's  life  was  a  fraud,  it's  death  a  propriety.'  '' 


CAMPING. 

SUMMER  is  the  season  of  the  year  when  people  go 
camping  —  at  least,  some  people  do^  mostly  those 
who  have  never  been  before. 

The  typical  camp  is  pretty  familiar  to  the  general 
reader.  It  consists  mainly  of  a  tent,  a  couple  of, 
blankets,  a  hole  in  the  ground  and  a  dog.  The  tent 
is  used  to  swelter  in  until  it  rains,  and  then  it  is  the 
best  place  on  the  premises  for  anybody  who  wants 
to  get  wet.  The  blankets  are  intended  for  slumber- 
ing purposes;  but  after  the  first  night  they  are 
generally  required  to  keep  the  rain  out  of  the  meal, 
and  the  bugs  out  of  the  sugar. 

The  hole  in  the  ground  is  the  kitchen.  The  cook- 
ing is  done  there.  The  cooking  is  a  good  deal  like 
the  hole.  No  particular  use  has  ever  been  discov- 
ered for  the  dog.  But  he  is  always  there.  He 
makes  himself  useful,  mainly,  in  eating  up  the  lard 
and  tipping  over  the  milk-pail.  These  are  the  only 
refreshments  that  he  ever  has.  His  favorite  occupa- 
tion in  the  night  is  to  sit  close  by  the  tent  door, 
with  his  mouth  open,  and  keep  the  moon  off. 

32 


CAMPING.  33 

We  forgot  to  mention  the  campers.  These  are 
usually  male  and  female  —  either  or  both.  They 
wear  blue  flannel  day  and  night,  and  have  sun- 
burned noses.  They  are  generally  better  fed  than 
the  dog,  and  not  quite  so  lean.  They  live  on  what- 
ever the  cook  gets  up  for  them.  Sometimes,  he  only 
gets  up  early  in  the  morning.  Then  the  campers 
are  very  indignant  because  he  did  not  let  them 
know  that  the  provisions  were  out. 

The  cook  can  alwa}rs  be  distinguished  from  the 
rest  of  the  party  by  the  crock  on  his  nose  and  the 
way  he  skulks  about  among  the  trees.  He  and 
the  dog  are  generally  the  most  cordial  enemies. 
This  is  not  healthy  for  the  dog;  but  he  can't 
help  it. 

Camping  parties  usually  remain  out  until  the  first 
or  second  rain.  Some  of  them  stand  it  a  week.  A 
good  deal  depends  on  the  cook.  Most  cooks  can 
break  up  the  longest-winded  camping-party  inside  of 
ten  days.  Some  can-do  it  in  a  day. 

The  time  in  camp  is  usually  spent  in  various 
ways.  Some  go  a-fishing.  But  as  those  who  catch 
the  fish  are  expected  to  clean  them,  this  sport  is  not 
considered  very  exciting. 

The  best  fun  is  boating  without  fishing,  and 
bathing.  Most  campers'  boats  furnish  bathing  and 


84  CAMPING. 

"'  ^  %  •'' 

boating  facilities  at  the   same  time.     This  is  very 

convenient  for  those  who  are  too  lazy  to  undress. 
The  generality  of  campers  are  desperately  lazy. 
Their  food  has  something  to  do  with  it.  Where 
there  are  males  and  females,  the  bathing  has  to 
be  done  in  bathing  suits.  This  is  very  amusing, 
because  you  can  never  tell  whether  a  camper  is 
going  bathing,  or  going  out  under  the  trees  to  write 
poetry.  The  bathing-suit  and  the  camping-suit  are 
just  alike. 

As  a  rule,  nobody  ever  falls  in  love  while  out 
camping.  This  is  what  makes  mixed  parties  so  safe. 
It  looks  awfully  dangerous  in  theory,  but  when  it 
comes  to  practice,  there  isn't  anything  dangerous 
about  it.  A  creature  who  is  perfectly  lovely  in  a 
ball-dress,  can't  smite  worth  a  cent  in  a  blue  flannel 
blouse,  with  a  man's  big  straw  hat  tied  down  over 
her  ears,  and  the  skin  peeling  off  the  end  of  her 
nose.  She's  just  a  jolly  little  insignificant  camper 
—  that's  all.  Nobody  thinks  of  falling  in  love  with 
a  camper. 

And  as  for  the  males  —  why,  all  you  need  is  to 
just  see  one  of  them.  You  would  think  they  were 
all  looking  for  a  job  on  the  railroad.  They  wouldn't 
be  allowed  to  walk  single  file  with  a  squad  of 
tramps.  Camps  are  great  places  to  cure  love,  too. 


If  thg  young  man  who  goes  away  to  a  foreign  land 
with  a  broken  heart,  trying  to  forget  her  —  trying  in 
vain,  while  his  heart-strings  ache^  and  his  appetite 
dwindles  down  to  a  fine  point  —  if  this  poor  love- 
sick young  man  could  only  camp  for  a  week  in 
a  party  with  his  dear  idol,  he  would  come  home 
with  an  enormous  hankering  for  roast-beef,  and  a 
big  comfortable  patch  of  contentment  on  his  broken 
heart.  Lots  of  married  people  have  come  mighty 
near  curing  their  love  in  camp.  It's  a  risky  experi- 
ment, and  all  true  lovers  will  be  wisely  advised  to 
fight  shy  of  it. 

If  there  is  any  day  in  'camp  which  stands  out  in 
the  memory  of  the  happy  tenters  with  peculiar 
delightfulness  and  brightness,  it  is  breaking-up  day. 
Oh,  how  glad  they  all  are  to  start  for  home !  Not 
that  they  haven't  had  a  pleasant  time  —  far  from 
that ;  but,  after  all,  the  chief  charm  of  getting  away 
anywhere  is  getting  back  again,  you  know.  And 
then,  think  of  a  real  cooked  dinner,  on  a  real  table, 
without  bugs !  It  is  enough  to  make  the  most 
bigoted  camper  lick  his  chops  and  relent.  The 
happiest  member  of  the  party,  when  the  tent  comes 
down  and  goes  into  the  bag,  is  the  dog.  The  next 
happiest  is  the  cook. 

Away  goes  the  merry  crowd  in  the  lumber-wagon, 


36  THE  BABY  IK  THE  CAB. 

singing  "Home,  Sweet  Home"  as  if  their  hearts 
would  burst.  The  dog  gambols  alongside ;  the 
driver  shouts  and  cracks  his  whip;  the  children 
laugh  and  whistle;  and  nothing  appears  to  look 
very  sad,  except  the  face  of  the  farmer  of  whom  they 
have  bought  eggs  and  milk,  and  the  big  hole  where 
the  cook  has  crocked  his  nose  and  vented  his  long- 
dormant  profanity. 


THE  BABY  IN  THE  CAE. 

"  AH-AH-AH-AH  —  w-a-g-h  !  " 

There  is  a  baby  in  the  car ! 

The  old  gentleman  on  the  fifth  seat,  front,  turns 
around  with  the  slow  exasperation  of  age,  arid  fixes 
his  filmy  eyes  full  upon  the  scarlet  face  of  the 
infant.  His  thin  lips  are  slightly  parted,  and  an 
expression  of  the  most  intense  disgust  is  stamped 
upon  his  parchment-colored  features. 

"  Uh-uh-uh-uh  —  a-h  —  a-h-h  !  " 

Two  drummers  spread  out  their  overcoats, 
satchels  and  newspapers  over  a  section  of  six 
seats  on  the  pleasant  side  of  the  car,  and  dis- 
appear across  the  platform,  holding  tightty  to  their 
hats  in  the  fierce  wind. 


THE  BABY  IN  THE  CAB.  37 

«  Aha-aha-aha  —  a-h-h  I  "  . 

"  Drat  the  baby  !  Can't  you  keep  it  still  ?  "  asks 
the  man  in  the  second  seat,  front,  as  he  throws 
down  his  paper  in  a  badly-rumpled  condition,  and 
paces  nervously  back  and  forth,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  between  his  seat  and  that  occupied  by 
the  infant  aiid  its  mother. 

"  Sh-sh  —  there  —  there ! "  croons  the  poor  woman, 
holding  the  baby  close  to  her  bosom,  and  rocking 
back  arid  forth  :  "  There,  there  —  coo,  coo." 

"  W-a-g-h  —  w-a-g-h  !  " 

There  is  an  old  maid  sitting  eight  seats  in  advance, 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  car.  Until  now  she  has 
maintained  a  profile  like  a  sphynx,  as  her  stony  eyes 
ran  to  and  fro  across  the  lines  of  a  railroad  library 
edition  of  the  "  History  of  the  Nineteenth  Century." 
Suddenly,  she  drops  the  book  in  her  lap,  and,  turn- 
ing sharply  about,  fixes  her  cold,  stern  gaze,  not 
upon  the  infant's  suffused  puff-ball,  but  upon  the 
pale,  weary  face  of  the  mother. 

There  are  volumes  in  that  gaze  !  Were  it  to  be 
translated  into  full  and  adequate  language,  it  could 
not  be  contained  in  nine  portly  folios  of  solid  agate 
type.  All  the  bitterness  and  the  sweetness  of  single 
blessedness ;  all  the  phariseeism  of  self-righteous 
irresponsibility ;  all  the  indignation  of  comfort- 


38  THE  BABY  IN  THE  CAB. 

able  independence  disturbed  by  the  what-might- 
have-been-expected  result  of  weak  *  sentimentality ; 
all  the  chanticleer-like  exultation  of  triumphant 
Mary- Walker-ism ;  all  the  meek  mulishness  of 
smoo  th-haired,  I-told-you-so,  got  -  the  -  mittenedness. 
She  looks  straight  at  the  faded-out  little  woman 
with  the  blooming  infant,  and  the  steel  bows  of 
her  spectacles  bristle  with  steel  glances,  like  a 
couple  of  quivers  full  of  barbed  arrows. 

"  That  woman  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  herself  !  " 

Then  one  of  the  drummers  returned  with  an 
orange,  which  he  put  into  the  chubby  hands  of 
the  infant. 

A  look  of  utter  astonishment  passed  into  the 
small  face,  transforming  a  woful  grimace  into  an 
expression  half-way  between  a  peach  and  a  twinge 
of  the  colic.  A  solitary  tear,  which  had  been  evolved 
during  the  spasm  of  lamentation,  trickled  down  the 
puffy  cheek,  and  the  little  nose  was  already  twisted 
with  the  approach  of  another  cyclone  of  grief.  But 
the  orange  prevailed.  A  gleam  of  unutterable  satis- 
faction fell  upon  the  mournful  territory  of  the  tear 
—  like  a  sunbeam  on  a  rainy  landscape  —  and  the 
baby  laughed ! 

Then  there  was  great  rejoicing  in  the  car.  The 
old  gentleman  went  peacefully  to  sleep ;  the  bust- 


AMATEUR  JUMPING.  39 

ness  man  resumed  his  paper ;  the  old  maid  returned 
to  the  "Nineteenth  Century";  and  the  drummer  took 
the  six  reserved  seats,  with  the  blessings  of  all  the 
passengers  on  his  head. 


AMATEUR  JUMPING. 

ONE  day  last  week  I  sat  on  the  piazza  of  a  small 
summer  hotel  that  stood  within  a  few  rods  of  the 
railroad  station.  It  was  a  very  hot  afternoon,  and  I 
had  almost  dropped  off  to  sleep,  when  I  was  aroused 
by  the  shriek  and  rumble  of  the  approaching 
through  express.  I  knew  that  the  train  would  pass 
the  station  like  lightning,  and  would  probably  bring 
with  it  a  small  but  very  grateful  hurricane  of  cool 
air ;  so  I  straightened  up  in  my  chair,  took  off  my 
hat,  and  prepared  to  enjoy  the  momentary  relief. 

With  a  prolonged,  ear-piercing  scream,  the  loco- 
motive dashed  into  sight,  and  behind  it  came  the 
rocking,  dust-enveloped  train.  As  the  coaches 
flashed  by  in  front  of  me,  I  was  amazed  to  see 
through  the  cloud  of  dust,  a  man  standing  on  the 
lower  step  of  one  of  the  platforms,  clinging  with  his 
left  hand  to  the  iron  railing,  and  with  one  foot 
advanced,  as  though  about  to  step  off.  Could  it  be 


40  AMATEUR  JUMPING. 

possible  that  he  was  going  to  try  to  jump  from  a 
train  going  at  such  terrific  speed  ? 

What  I  beheld,  and  am  about  to  relate,  was  all 
transferred  to  my  brain  by  nature's  instantaneous 
photography  in  about  two  shakes  of  a  meteor's  tail. 
When  the  man  reached  the  platform  of  the  station, 
he  stepped  off — or  at  least  he  thought  he  did.  It 
was  probably  the  longest  step  he  ever  took  in  his 
life,  unless  he  was  a  married  man — and  I  don't 
believe  a  married  man  would  be  such  a  fool.  The 
place  where  this  man  intended  to  step  was  doubt* 
less  a  very  good  place  to  do  such  a  thing ;  the  only 
objection  to  it  was,  it  didn't  come  to  time  as 
promptly  as  he  expected.  About  ten  yards  farther 
down  the  platform  was  another  good  place  to  step 
which  the  man  had  not  seen  beforehand,  and  he 
stepped  there.  The  instant  he  touched  the  plat- 
form and  let  go  the  train  he  seemed  to  be  struck  by 
a  sudden  idea,  and  that  idea  seemed  to  be  that  he 
had  a  very  important  engagement  with  a  man,  in  the 
direction  in  which  he  was  going.  I  never  saw  any- 
body in  quite  so  much  of  a  hurry  in  my  life.  He 
was  in  such  a  hurry  that  he  couldn't  stop  to  go 
afoot.  The  first  thing  that  he  did  was  to  come 
down  slap  on  his  face  with  a  cold,  clammy  thud,  like 
a  second-breakfast  slapjack  on  a  frozen  plate.  But 


AMATEUR  JUMPING.  41 

before  you  could  say  Jack  Robinson,  he  had  taken  a 
couple  of  summersaults  over  a  box  of  store  crackers, 
and  knocked  a  pile  of  hides  to  Plutoville,  and  gone. 
Then,  leaving  the  hides  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
he  slid  for  about  fifteen  feet  on  that  portion  of  his 
nether  garments  where  the  tailor  wastes  the  most 
cloth,  went  through  one  of  the  wheels  of  a  horse- 
rake,  leaving  four  of  his  front  teeth  for  the  rent  of 
his  coat,  and  imprinting  a  deep  phrenological 
impression  upon  a  bale  of  hay,  stood  on  his  shoul- 
ders against  a  barrel  of  pork  long  enough  to  let  his 
watch  drop  out  and  smash.  He  then  rolled  over 
five  or  six  times,  scratched  off  all  the  pleasant 
expression  of  his  face  on  a  lot  of  iron  scraps,  slid 
over  a  set  of  scales  without  stopping  to  be 
weighed,  and  brought  up  square  against  a  shed  at 
the  other  end  of  the  platform  with  a  bang  that 
could  be  heard  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile. 

I  supposed,  of  course,  that  the  man  was  dead,  and 
rushing  into  the  hotel  ordered,  at  the  top  of  my 
voice,  "A  coroner  for  one  !  "  As  I  came  out  again, 
however,  I  was  horrified  to  see  the  corpse  sitting  up, 
rubbing  its  elbows,  and  spitting  blood.  I  went  over 
as  quick  as  I  could,  and  asked  the  man  if  he  felt  bad 
anywhere.  He  said  he  guessed  he  did,  but  couldn't 
tell  exactly  where.  Then  I  asked  him  if  I  coul$ 


42  AMATEUR  JUMPING. 

help  him  to  hunt  up  his  teeth,  or  be  of  assistance  in 
any  other  way.  He  said  if  I  would  tell  him  the 
time  of  day,  and  where  he  was,  he  believed  he  could 
dispense  with  my  services  without  dying  of  grief. 
Just  then  the  landlord  appeared  upon  the  scene,  and 
he  and  I  picked  up  the  man  and  carried  him  over  to 
the  hotel.  He  remarked  on  the  way  that  he  would 
walk  if  it  were  not  for  the  condition  of  his  trousers, 
but  he  was  afraid  he  had  been  sitting  down  some- 
where against  the  grain.  He  wanted  to  know  if  he 
had  been  asleep,  or  what  was  the  matter  with  him. 
I  told  him  I  guessed  he  hadn't  been  asleep,  for  I 
didn't  see  how  a  man  could  be  as  lively  as  he  had 
been  for  the  past  few  seconds  and  get  much  rest. 

We  took  the  unfortunate  creature  into  the  hotel, 
and  the  landlord  wanted  him  to  register,  but  I  sug- 
gested that  we  had  better  put  him  to  bed,  and  give 
him  a  chance  to  rest  and  reflect  a  little.  I  sat  down 
beside  him,  and  was  just  getting  him  into  a  cheerful 
frame  of  mind,  when  it  transpired  from  a  statement 
of  mine,  that  the  station  where  he  got  off  was 
Jones  ville.  **> 

"  Good  heavens ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  the  place 
where  I  wanted  to  stop  was  Robinsontown  ?  " 

"  That's  four  miles  farther  down  the  road,"  said 
I,  "  and  the  train  stops  there  for  wood  and  water." 


ABOUT  WEATHER-PROPHETS. 


THE  prophet  is  not 
an  extinct  bird, 
neither  is  it  one  which 
has  but  just  chipped 
the  shell  of  evolution, 
in  these  later  days. 
There  have  been 
prophets  in  all  ages. 
As  long  ago  as  the 
very  venerable  an- 
cients wrote  in  pon- 
derous prose  and  inter- 
minable hexameters, 

there  were  prophets  —  oracles  they  called  them  — 
who  sat  on  three-legged  milking  stools  and  delivered, 
after  much  coaxing,  such  dark  sayings  that  people 
could  never  tell  whether  they  came  true  or  not. 
(This,  by  the  way,  is  the  crowning  attainment  of 
the  accomplished  prophet— •? to  say  things  in  such 
a  way  that  nobody  can  tell,  in  the  end,  whether  he 


44  ABOUT  WEATHER  PROPHETS. 

is  right  or  not.  This  is  where  weather-prophets 
fail.) 

But  what  is  a  weather-prophet  ? 

A  weather-prophet  is  a  prophet  who  thinks  that  he 
has  got  the  bulge  on  the  weather,  vulgarly  speaking. 
He  doesn't  sit  on  a  Jhree-legged  stool,  and  he  doesn't 
deliver  dark  sayings;  but  nevertheless  he  is  a  prophet. 
His  way  of  doing  things  is  somewhat  like  this :  He 
takes  a  little  notebook  and  he  makes  a  little  record 
of  the  weather  for,  say,  six  months  —  this  day 
pleasant,  this  day  beautiful,  this  day  fair,  this  day 
clouded,  this  day  drizzly,  this  day  rain,  snow,  slush, 
blizzard,  storm,  red-hot,  blazing,  etc.  Then  he  turnb 
his  pencil  upside  down,  in  the  winter,  and  says,  — 

"  Well,  here's  a  lot  of  spring  days  in  this  column. 
Spring  is  coming.  Now  I  will  choose,  say,  the  — 
the  eleventh  of  next  March  for  my  key-day.  I  will 
shut  my  eyes,  swing  my  pencil  in  a  circle  three  times, 
and  then  jab  down  with  it.  Where  the  butt  rests, 
that  is  to  be  the  weather  for  that  day." 

He  shuts  his  eyes  and  jabs.  When  lifting  the 
reversed  end  of  the  pencil,  he  reads,  — 

"  Great  storm  to-day.  Lots  of  clothes  lines 
stripped." 

"  Very  good,"  he  says ;  "  storm  it  is ;  but  it 
mustn't  be  a  local  storm.  That  won't  pay.  I  guess 


ABOUT  "VPEAfHER-PKOPHEl1 S.  45 

I  will  put  it  into  the  papers,  '  Great,  destructive 
storm  along  the  whole  coast  and  inland.  People 
who  have  ships  and  clothes  out  will  do  well  to  buy 
one  of  my  almanacs,  and  then  they  will  know  exactly 
when  to  take  'em  in.' ' 

This  is  the  way  the  weather-prophet  gets  the  bulge 
on  the  weather.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  him 
whether  the  storm  comes  or  not,  he  has  sold  just  so 
many  almanacs,  and  his  pockets  stick  out  for  fatness. 

Well,  now,  suppose  that  the  weather-prophet, 
instead  of  being  bogus,  was  a  true  prophet.  Sup- 
pose he  sat  on  a  three-legged  stool ;  suppose  he  said 
things  darkly,  in  this  wise :  "  For  the  middle  States 
fair  weather,  with  local  rains,  northwest  to  southeast 
winds,  and  rising  or  falling  barometer." 

He  would  be  a  genuine  oracle,  but  he  wouldn't 
sell  many  almanacs.  No ;  what  the  people  want  is 
a  man  with  a  very  large  bump  of  veracity  on  the 
same  side  with  a  very  large  cheek.  They  don't  care 
a  shuck  what  the  weather  turns  out  to  be  —  they 
want  a  man  that  knows  all  about  it  beforehand. 

There  is  all  the  difference  in  the  world  >  bet  ween  a 
natural  prognosticator  of  the  weather  and  a  profes- 
sional weather-prophet.  The  former  only  guesses 
what  the  weather  is  going  to  be  to-morrow  —  any- 
body can  do  that ;  the  latter  knows  just  what  it  is 


46  AfcOtJT  WEATflEB  PKOPHETS. 

going  to  be  six  weeks  hence.  The  people  will  jpay 
liberally  for  this  kind  of  knowledge. 

It  is  worth  something  to  know  when  we  are  going 
to  have  a  big  storm,  whether  it  comes  or  not.  Tut! 
these  little  shotgun  guessers  aren't  the  fellows  we 
want  to  hear  from. 

Give  us  a  long-range,  infallible,  rifle-barrelled 
prophet,  who  scorns  to  scatter  small  conjectures  over 
large  targets  at  short  distances,  but  is  always 
ready  to  project  a  single,  compact  dictum  over  vast 
meteorological  ranges  at  barely  distinguishable 
possibilities. 

Give  us  a  Vennor  or  a  Wiggins,  and  a  small  boy 
to  sit  behind  the  target  and  put  in  fresh  bull's-eyes 
at  every  shot. 

Your  meteorological  priests,  seers,  oracles,  sitting 
on  their  three-legged  stools  and  delivering  doubtful 
opinions,  are  well  enough ;  but  after  all  they  are 
pretty  small  fry  compared  with  a  pope  of  the  weather 
like  Wiggins.  O  Wiggins !  thou  dost  understand 
the  meteorological  mystery  !  Thou  hast  the  key  of 
the  weather,  and  dost  understand  the  combination 
lock  thereof. 

Immortal  Wiggins !  What  was  the  oracle  at 
Delphi  to  thee?  Thou  dost  not  instruct  by  omens  of 
wings  and  entrails.  Thou  sayest  point-blank, 


ABOUT  WEATHER-PROPHETS.  47 

"  TJiere  will  be  a  great  storm,"  and'  a  great  storm 
is  —  not. 

Divine  vaticination !  Would  that  all  men  were  * 
weather-prophets!  Smith,  Jones,  Robinson  —  pub- 
lish an  almanac.  I  have  told  you  how  the  thing  is 
done.  Go  in,  and  lard  those  thin  pockets  of  yours 
with  some  fat  buzzard  dollars.  You  must  go  Wig- 
gins one  better,  of  course.  You  must  announce  that 
on,  well,  say  the  sixteenth  of  June,  there  will  come 
a  red-hot  trade  wind  out  of  the  south,  trimmed  on 
the  west  edge  with  cyclones  and  on  the  northeast 
corner  with  a  Minnesota  blizzard,  and  lay  every  crop 
flatter  than  a  fence-rail  and  shrivel  it  worse  than  a 
mother-in-law's  grandmother,  while  every  lake  and 
pond  and  river  in  the  United  States  will  dry  in  its 
bed,  and  the  whole  country  will  smell  like  one 
perpetual  Friday. 

If  Wiggins  has  made  fifty  thousand  dollars  out  of 
his  almanacs,  you  will  easily  make  a  million.  All  it 
needs  is  an  old  maid's  diary,  a  sheet  of  foolscap 
paper,  and  a  stub  pencil. 

It  is  a  shame  that  the  little  Dominion  of  Canada 
should  hold  a  monopoly  on  this  lucrative  recreation. 
Let  the  Great  American  Weather-Prophet  arise. 


48  HOW  SAM  PENNELL  BAN  AWAY. 


HOW  SAM  PENNELL  EAN  AWAY. 

"  SAM  PENNELL,  hold  out  your  hand ! " 

The  pretty  school  ma'am  was  pale  but  firm,  and 
when  Sam  Pennell  clutched  his  hands  defiantly  be- 
hind him,  she  seized  one  arm  in  a  quick,  strong 
grasp,  drew  the  doubled-up  fist  toward  her  and 
rapped  the  knuckles  so  sharply  with  the  ruler  that 
Sam  howled  with  pain  and  spread  out  his  palm. 

"That  will  do,"  said  Miss  Howe.  "You  may 
take  your  seat." 

Instead  of  taking  his  seat,  Sam  Pennell,  with  the 
hot  tears  scorching  his  eyes  and  a  flaming  of  soul 
that  seemed  as  though  it  would  burn  through  his 
jacket,  bolted  for  the  door,  slammed  it  in  the 
teacher's  face,  and  started  hatless  across  the  fields 
toward  the  woods.  It  was  his  first  punishment  be- 
fore the  school,  and  it  seemed  more  than  he  could 
stand,  "I'll  never  go  back  now,"  he  sobbed  con- 
vulsively. "  If  they  try  to  make  me,  I'll  run  away." 

He  lay  down  under  the  shade  of  the  cool  woods 
and  cried  until  his  fountain  of  tears  was  dry.  The 
leaves  made  a  pleasant  sound  in  the  wind,  the  birds 
sang  softly,  and  before  Sam  knew  it,  worn  out  by 
his  emotions,  he  had  fallen  asleep.  It  was  nearly 


HOW  SAM  fEKNELL  RAtt   AWAY.  43 

mid-afternoon  when  he  awoke.  At  first,  he  was 
utterly  bewildered.  Then  the  circumstances  of  the 
morning  came  rushing  back  in  a  bitter  tide,  and  he 
realized  that  he  was  in  some  sense  an  outlaw  and  a 
fugitive  from  justice.  "  I'll  go  home,  anyway,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  and  see  what  the  folks  say.  Per- 
haps they  haven't  heard  anything  about  it.  Besides, 
I'm  awfully  hungry." 

A  few  minutes  later,  a  hatless,  tear-stainec?  little 
fellow  crept  into  the  shed  of  Farmer  Pennell's 
rambling  old  house.  The  kitchen  door  was  open, 
and  Sam  stuck  in  his  head,  and  looked  around. 

"  That  you,  Sam  Pennell  ? "  came  a  sharp  voice 
from  the  "buttry."  "It's  good  you've  got  home. 
Your  father's  out  in  the  medder  back  of  the  barn, 
and  wants  to  see  you.  No,  sir,  you  don't  get  any 
dinner  to-day." 

So  Cousin  Bets  had  told  on  him.  Sam  more 
than  half  expected  it.  Bets  didn't  like  Sam  very 
well.  Big  girl  cousins  seldom  do  like  little  boy 
cousins  —  and  often  with  very  good  reason. 

Poor,  hungry  Sam  slinked  out  into  the  orchard. 
The  invitation  to  meet  his  father  in  the  "  medder" 
he  understood  perfectly  well.  He  had  kept  such 
engagements  before,  and  always  regretted  it.  Be- 
sides, pirouetting  in  front  of  a  strap  on  an  empty 


60  HOW  SAM  PENMLL  RAN  AWAY. 

stomach  was  too  exhausting  to  be  thought  of.  His 
mind  was  made  up  in  a  moment.  He  would  run 
away  from  Woodsville  and  go  to  the  city.  There  he 
would  rapidly  become  rich,  would  be  nominated  as 
candidate  for  the  Presidency  of  the  United  States 
and  be  elected  by  a  rousing  majority.  His  first 
official  act \would  be  to  banish  the  pretty  school 
teacher  and  order  out  the  State  militia  to  raze  the 
schoolhouse  to  the  ground.  He  would  then  heap 
coals  of  fire  upon  his  father's  head  by  making  him 
minister  to  England.  Sam's  programme  was  made 
out  in  a  flash.  All  that  remained  to  do  was  to  put 
it  into  execution. 

Stuffing  his  pockets  with  apples,  he  climbed  the 
fence  and  started  for  the  railroad  track,  carefully 
keeping  a  row  of  elms  between  himself  and  the 
meadow  back  of  the  barn.  '-The  dear  old  house-dog, 
half  blind  with  age,  came  nosing  along  his  track. 
Sam  hung  around  the  old  fellow's  neck  for  a  min- 
ute, kissed  him  on  the  curly  head,  and  then  with  an 
aching  heart  drove  him  back  to  the  house. 

A  freight  train  was  just  passing  when  Sam 
reached  the  railroad.  The  locomotive  was  puffing- 
up-grade  very  slowly,  and  Sam  waited  until  the  last 
freight  car  came  along,  when  he  made  a  spurt  as  fast 
as  his  short  legs  could  carry  him,  caught  hold  of  the 


BOW  SAM  PEtf NELL  flAN  AWAY.  51 

climbing-irons,  and  swuiig  himself  up.  As  the  hat- 
less  yellow  head  appeared  over  the  top  of  the  car, 
a  brakeman  sang  out :  "Hi,  young  man  I  The  In- 
ter-State Commerce  law's  gone  into  operation." 

"What's  that?"  piped  back  Sam,  breathlessly, 
seating  himself  on  the  end  of  the  car. 

"No  more  free  ri3.es  for  directors." 

"But  I  ain't  a  director,"  objected  Sam* 

"Then  you  must  be  the  president ?" 

"  No,  not  yet,"  replied  Sam  modestly,  "  but  I  ex- 
pect to  be.  That's  what  I  am  going  to  the  city 
for." 

"  Well,  I  rather  like  your  cheek !  "  exclaimed  the 
brakeman,  sitting  down  beside  Sam,  "  and  I  guess  I 
won't  put  you  off  till  we  side-track,  anyway.  What 
are  you  doing  —  running  away  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  replied  Sam,  sadly. 

"Where  do  you  live?" 

"  In  that  house  over  yonder.  That's  father  out  in 
the  medder,  on  the  load  of  hay." 

"What's  the  difficulty  between  you  arid  the  old 
gentleman  —  incompatibility  of  temperament?" 

Sam  looked  up  in  astonishment.  Even  the  pretty 
schoolma'am  had  never  used  such  big  words.  "No," 
he  answered,  respectfully,  "  It  isn't  so  bad  as  that. 
It's  nothing  but  a  strap.' ' 


52  SOW  SAM%EtfK£LL  RAN  AWA¥. 


"Oh?"  exclaimed  the  brakeman,  laughing,  "I 
have  heard  of  such  cases  before.  Now,  young  man, 
if  my  advice  is  worth  anything,  you  will  go  back  to 
the  strap  just  as  soon  as  you  can  get  off  this  train 
Without  breaking  your  neck.  There's  another  up- 
grade just  beyond  Perryville  Station,  where  you 
can  drop  off,  apples  and  all,  and  I  won't  charge  you 
a  cent  for  helping  you.  I'm  one  of  the  strap  boys 
myself,  and  I  tell  you  it  felt  mighty  nice  after  I  had 
been  away  from  home  for  about  six  weeks." 

"  Did  you  run  away  ?  "  asked  Sam,  offering  the 
brakeman  an  apple. 

"  Yes>  I  did  ;  and  I  was  better  off  than  you  are, 
too  —  for  I  had  a  hat." 

"  What  did  you  do  when  you  got  to  the  city  ?  " 
persisted  Sam,  with  intense  interest. 

"  I  got  a  first-class  job  at  starving,  that  lasted  me 
as  long  as  I  was  willing  to  keep  the  place.  Did  you 
ever  try  starving  ?  " 

"I  —  I  begin  to  feel  a  little  that  way  now," 
admitted  Sam,  seriously. 

"  Well,  you  will  feel  more  so  the  further  you 
travel  away  from  the  strap  —  take  my  word  for 
that.  What  did  you  expect  to  do  in  the  city, 
anyway  ?  " 

Sam  began  to  waver  a  little.     "I  —  I  expected  to 


HOW   SAM  FENNEL  EAN  AWAY.  53 

make  lots  of  money,  and  get  to  be  President  of  the 
United  States." 

"That's  all?" 

"  Y-e-s." 

"  You  are  too  modest  by  half.  Most  fellows  want 
to  be  errand  boys,  at  twenty -five  cents  a  day,  and 
sleep  in  a  box — -that  is,  after  they  get  to  the  city. 
But  very  few  of  them  succeed  to  that  extent." 

Sam. dropped  his  apple,  and  sat  buried  in  deep 
thought  for  several  minutes.  Finally,  he  looked 
up  and  asked :  "  How  far  are  we  from  the  up- 
grade ?  " 

"  About  a  mile.     Here's  the  station." 

"Well,"  said  Sam,  "I've  about  made  up  my  mind 
to  get  off.  You  haven't  got  an  old  musty  slice  of 
bread,  or  a  hard  doughnut,  have  you  ?  " 

"No,"  laughed  the  brakeman,  "but  I've  got  some 
boss  sandwiches  and  gingerbread  in  my  pail.  Sit 
still,  and  hang  on  tight."  The  brakeman  ran  for- 
ward to  the  locomotive,  and  presently  returned 
with  a  big  slice  of  gingerbread  and  two  sandwiches. 
"  Give  me  your  apples."  he  said,  "and  put  these  in 
your  pocket.  Here  is  the  up-grade.  Good  by. 
Mind  my  word,  and  stick  by  the  strap." 

Late  in  the  evening,  Sam  Pennell  put  in  an  ap- 
pearance at  the  old  farmhouse.  As  he  stuck  his 


54  A  MIXED  AFFAIR. 

curly  head  in  at  the  kitchen  door,  a  pair  of  warm, 
motherly  arms  went  around  his  neck,  and  a 
trembling  voice  exclaimed :  "  Sam  Pennell,  you 
don't  know  how  you  frightened  me,  and  your 
father's  most  wild.  He's  out  in  the  woods  with  a 
lantern,  now.  You  poor,  hungry  child !  There,  sit 
down  and  eat,  while  I  blow  the  horn." 


A  MIXED  AFFAIR. 

THE  Vanderbilt  Ball  was  a  thing  of  the  past,  so 
far  as  the  ball  itself  was  concerned ;  but  the  papers 
"were  full  of  it,  and  everybody  was  talking  about 
it,  and  even  the  ministers  were  preaching  about 
it;  so  what  wonder  that  it  was  the  topic  of  con- 
versation at  the  Foggett  tea-table  that  Monday 
evening?  Mr.  Foggett  sat  on  one  side  of  the 
little  snowy-covered  table,  and  Mrs.  Foggett  sat 
on  the  side,  and  the  baby  sat  at  the  end  —  if  a 
round  table  can  be  said  to  have  an  end. 

They  were  eating  and  drinking  very  daintily  out 
of  very  dainty  dishes,  as  young  married  people  are 
apt  to ;  and  the  baby,  tied  with  a  towel  into  his 
high-chair,  was  beating  the  table  with  his  rattle, 


A  MIXED  AFFAIR.  55 

and  celebrating  his  own  Barmecide  feast  in  the 
old  immemorial  way. 

"  Cuthbert,  love,"  said  Mrs.  Foggett :  «  don't  you 
think  —  hush,-  Cubbie,  hush  !  shh  !  —  don't  you 
think  it  would  be  nice  to  celebrate  the  second 
anniversary  of  our  marriage  by  a  little  company 
of  some  sort?  For  instance,  we  might  invite  all 
our  young  married  friends  to  come  and  spend 
the  evening  with  us  —  a  company  of  young  mar- 
ried people,  exclusively." 

"But  what  would  they  do  with  their  babies?" 
asked  Mr.  Foggett,  dubiously.  "  You  don't  suppose 
they'd  go  out  for  all  of  four  hours,  both  of  'em, 
do  you,  and  leave  their  babies  all  alone  with  the 
servants  ?  Not  much !  —  eh,  Cubbie  ?  " 

"  That's  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Foggett,  thoughtfully. 
"  But  look  here,  Cuthbert !  why  couldn't  we  have  it 
early,  five  o'clock,  say,  and  invite  them  to  bring 
their  babies  with  them  ?  Wouldn't  that  be  nice.  A 
real  young  people's  party,  with  their  babies ;  do  let's 
have  it,  Cuthbert!," 

"  Well,  my  dear,  we  will,  if  you  say  so,"  replied 
Mr.  Foggett.  "  Let's  see,  Thursday's  the  day,  isn't 
it  ?  Well,  you  go  to  work  and  make  out  your  invi- 
tations to-day,  and  I'll  deliver  'em  to-morrow,  and 
see  about  the  refreshments  and  things.  Is  it  a 
bargain  ?  " 


56  A  MIXED  AFFAIB.  - 

:  The  bargain  was  made,  and  on  Tuesday  afternoon 
Mr.  Foggett  took  a  small  pasteboard  box  under  his 
arm,  and  walked  briskly  about  town  for  two  hours 
and  a  half,  delivering  some  forty  invitations,  which 
read  as  follows :  — 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cuthbert  F.  Foggett  request  the 
presence  of  yourself  and  husband  and  baby,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  second  anniversary  of  their  mar- 
riage, next  Thursday  eve,  at  five  o'clock.  Be  sure 
and  bring  the  baby." 

The  cards,  of  course,  were  delivered  only  to  those 
young  married  people  whom  the  italicized  clauses 
concerned.  If  it  was  to  be  a  baby  party  in  idea, 
why  of  course  it  wouldn't  do  to  have  any  couples 
there  unprovided  with  credentials.  It  would  be 
embarrassing  for  them. 

The  eventful  evening  came,  and  Mr.  Foggett  hur- 
ried home  early  from  business.  He  found  the  house 
in  a  state  of  dazzling  attractiveness  and  expectation. 

The  very  statuettes  seemed  to  lean  forward  eagerly 
on  their  pedestals,  to  listen  for  the  hesitating  foot- 
step of  the  first  guest,  and  the  hot-house  flowers 
seemed  to  throb  and  perspire  with  a  sort  of  hot- 
blooded  fragrance,  like  a  girl  when  she  gives  her 
first  ball,  and  waits,  all  on  fire  with  eagerness,  the 
coming  of  the  gay  throng,  At  five  o'clock,  Mr, 


A  MIXED  AFFAIR.  5T 

Foggett  and  Mrs.  Foggett  and  Cubbie  were  all  down 
in  the  parlor,  dressed  in  holiday  costume. 

Cubbie  sat  up  in  his  high  chair,  as  usual,  and 
sucked  his  fist  and  pounded  with  his  rattle,  as 
unconcernedly  as  though  nothing  in  the  world  was 
<going  to  happen.  He  was  mightily  tickled  at  the 
display  of  flowers,  and  expressed  himself  to  that 
effect  in  a  long  infantile  monologue,  the  burden  of 
which  appeared  to  be  the  repetition  of  two  favorite 
adjectives,  "  goo-goo  "  and  "  gur-gur."  His  remarks 
were  also  emphasized  by  hasty  gestures  with  his 
damp  fist,  and  by  forcible  thumping  of  his  high 
chair  with  the  rattle. 

"  Oh,  dear !  here  they  come ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Foggett,  all  in  a  flutter,  looking  out  at  the  window ; 
"a  lot  of  'em,  all  together."  Sure  enough,  some  ten 
couples  were  seen  marching  in  at  the  gate  and  up  the 
walk,  each  gentleman  with  a  baby  in  his  arms. 
They  rang  the  doorbell,  and  Mrs.  Foggett  tripped 
out  to  let  them  in.  Such  a  merry  outcry  as  arose 
when  the  door  opened,  and  they  all  trooped  in  with 
their  babies  ! 

"  Come  right  in  this  way,  gentlemen,  please,  with 
the  babies ;  ladies,  upstairs,  first  door  to  the  right." 

The  ladies  went  rustling  and  chattering  upstairs, 
and  the  gentlemen  followed  Mrs.  Foggett  into  the 


58  A  MIXED  AFFAIR. 

spare  room,  where  a  great  wide  bed,  with  an  immac- 
ulate counterpane  and  no  pillows,  had  been  provided 
for  the  reception  of  the  infants. 

"  Put  the  babies  on  the  bed,"  chirped  Mrs.  Fog- 
gett,  merrily  ;  "  and  step  just  across  the  hall  into  the 
other  room  and  lay  off  your  hats  and  overshoes." 

Now,  if  it  had  been  a  lot  of  women,  do  you  sup- 
pose they  would  unhesitatingly  have  placed  those  ten 
similarly  dressed  and  dangerously  interchangeable 
infants  promiscuously  upon  one  bed?  I  trow  not. 
But  when  did  a  man  ever  have  any  common  sense 
in  strictly  domestic  matters,  anyway  ?  Not  one  of 
those  men  stopped  to  reflect  that  the  infant  he  car- 
ried in  his  arms  had  not  yet  reached  the  age  when 
the  principle  of  variation  begins  to  take  effect  in 
the  human  'species;  and  poor  bewildered,  excited 
little  Mrs.  Foggett,  how  should  she  think  of  the 
consequences  which  might  ensue?  —  Cubbie  wasn't 
there ! 

The  ten  men  deposited  their  ten  hopefuls  on  the 
big  bed,  in  the  best  of  innocent  faith,  and  then 
stepped  across  the  hall  to  lay  aside  their  outer  gar- 
ments and  prink  up  a  little  for  the  parlor.  They 
finished  their  toilets,  and  stood  conversing  in  little 
groups,  waiting  for  the  ladies  to  come  downstairs. 
Meanwhile  the  babies,  of  course,  began  to  explore 


A  MIXED  AFFAIR.  59 

the  bed,  and  in  the  course  of  their  peregrinations 
they,  very  naturally,  changed  positions  all  around; 
so  that,  of  two  babies  originally  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  one  might  now  be  at  the  head  and  the  other  one 
somewhere  near  the  middle.  In  due  time,  also  — 
as  might  have  been  expected  —  these  youthful  ex- 
plorers inconvenienced  one  another  somewhat  in 
their  wanderings,  and  it  was  not  long  before  a 
chorus  of  doleful  wails  disturbed  the  perfumed  quiet 
of  the  house.  In  rushed  the  fathers,  with  the  same 
precipitancy  with  which  their  sex  responds  to  any 
alarm,  from  a  baby's  cry  to  a  fire  signal,  and  each 
one  caught  up  the  infant  which  he  supposed  was  his 
own,  and  proceeded  to  administer  the  usual  mas- 
culine dose  of  comfort,  a  vigorous  tossing  up  and 
down  in  the  air,  and  a  series  of  expostulatory  ex- 
clamations and  whistles :  "  There,  there !  "  "  Papa's 
boy,  don't  cry!"  "  Sh  !  sh  !  "  The  infection  of 
grief  had,  however,  spread  through  the  entire 
infantile  company,  and  with  one  accord  they  lifted 
up  their  voices  and  wept  vociferously.  In  the 
midst  of  the  hubbub,  in  fluttered  the  mothers. 
Each  one  indignantly  snatched  the  small  bundle  of 
humanity  from  her  lord,  and  hastened  to  apply  the 
superior  assuaging  power  of  a  woman's  sympathy. 
But  suddenly  there  was  consternation. 


60  A  MIXED   AFFAIR. 

"  This  isn't  my  baby !  "  exclaimed  a  little  blonde 
mother,  holding  out  an  unfortunate  infant  at  arms' 
length :  "  My  baby  had  a  little  red  ribbon  and  a 
locket  around  its  neck.  Who's  got  my  baby  ?  " 

If  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  into  the  chimney  of 
the  Foggett  house,  there  couldn't  have  been  more 
ado!  A  baby  with  a  ribbon  around  its  neck  was 
finally  passed  up  to  the  anxious  little  blonde,  and 
the  unappropriated  child  was  placed  upon  .the  bed 
for  general  inspection. 

"I  don't  know  whether  this  baby  is  mine  or  not!" 
sobbed  one  poor  little  lady,  fumbling  the  dress  of 
the  infant  she  held:  "It's  crying  so  I  can't  tell. 
All  babies  look  alike  when  they're  crying." 

"I  don't  believe  I've  got  the  right  one,  either," 
faltered  a  girlish  little  mother,  in  a,broken  voice: 
"You  look,  Henry,  and  see." 

Henry  took  the  infant  to  the  window,  looked 
down  its  throat,  (which  was  about  all  there  was  to 
be  seen)  pinched  its  cheek,  and  then  remarked  that 
he'd  be  blamed  if  he  could  tell,  but  he  guessed  it 
was  all  right.  Meanwhile,  all  the  babies  kept  up  a 
most  doleful  hullabaloo,  increased,  no  doubt,  by  the 
confusion  and  hubbub  amongst  their  parents.  Their 
little  red  faces  were  all  contorted  past  possible 
recognition,  and  their  little  scarlet  fists  were  beating 


A  MIXED  AFFAIR.  61 

and  punching  the  heads  of  those  who  held  them, 
and  were  attempting  to  identify  them,  in  the  most 
exasperating  manner.  To  add  to  the  confusion, 
Master  Cubbie,  in  the  other  room,  must  needs 
contribute  somewhat  to  the  general  hubbub ;  and 
finally  that  young  gentleman  wrought  himself  up  to 
such  a  pitch  of  frenzy,  and  kicked  and  squirmed  so 
vigorously,  that  he  upset  his  frail  basket-work  tene- 
ment, and  "  down  came  high-chair,  Cubbie,  and  all," 
with  a  commotion  that  rose  high  above  that  of  the 
rest  of  the  company,  and  drew  poor  little  Mrs. 
Foggett  and  big  bewildered  Mr.  Foggett  in  haste  to 
his  relief. 

It  would  be  simply  impossible  to  describe  ade- 
quately the  anguish  of  these  unfortunate  young 
married  people  as  the  mystery  deepened,  and  the 
infants  continued  to  masquerade  under  the  facial 
contortions  of  grief.  One  by  one  the  doubting  and 
sobbing  mothers  placed  the  infant  in  their  arms 
among  the  "unidentified"  on  the  bed,  and  buried 
their  faces  on  their  husbands'  bosoms. 

New  guests,  meanwhile,  arrived,  bearing  their 
passports  in  their  arms,  and  the  confusion  was  in  no 
wise  lessened  by  their  frantic  endeavors  to  find  out 
what  the  matter  was.  As  fast  as  they  were  apprised, 
however,  it  was  Instructive  to  note  how  convulsively 


62  A  MIXED  AFFAIR. 

they  clasped  their  own  progeny  to  their  bosoms,  and 
how  assiduously  they  kept  aloof  from  the  chamber 
of  confusion. 

Finally,  when  the  tumult  became  unbearable,  and 
everybody  present,  including  the  babies,  seemed  to 
be  just  trembling  upon  the  verge  of  insanity,  Mr. 
Foggett  mounted  a  chair  and  cried,  — 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen!  Ladies  and  gentlemen! 
As  this  little  post-Vanderbilt  ball  seems  to  be  hardly 
a  success,  except  in  one  sense  of  the  word,  I  shall 
take  the  liberty  of  declaring  you  all  excused.  Let 
each  couple  take  a  baby  and  carry  it  home.  When 
the  babies  all  calm  down,  we  shall,  perhaps,  be  able 
to  tell  to  whom  they  belong,  and  then  we  will  change 
about,  as  we  did  with  our  college  diplomas ! " 

This  little  speech  was  iiot  greeted  with  applause 
—  heaven  knows  it  'was  no  time  for  that !  But, 
what  is  more  to  the  point,  its  sentiment  was  imme- 
diately adopted.  Each  gentleman,  under  the  tearful 
direction  of  his  wife,  selected  one  of  the  assorted 
infants,  and  sadly,  two  by  two,  the  anniversary 
guests  took  their  departure  in  an  incredibly  brief 
space  of  time.  A  succession  of  infantile  wails  was 
heard,  growing  fainter  and  fainter  as  it  passed  down 
the  village  street ;  and  finally  the  mournful  sound 
died  away,  and  left  the  house  to  silence  and  to  — — 
Cubbie. 


A  MIXED  AFFAIR.  63 

Next  day  a  provisional  and  secret  exchange  of 
infants  was  made,  and  the  day  following  there  was 
still  another  sifting  of  the  sifted,  until  a  measurable 
degree  of  satisfaction  was  attained.  Everything 
was  done  by  all  concerned  to  keep  the  matter  dark, 
but,  of  course,  it  leaked  out  and  became  the  town's 
talk.  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  so  many  young 
mothers  should  wet  their  pillows  by  night,  and 
yearn  for  the  days  of  Solomon ! 


ON  LUCK. 

JOHNNY'S  father  told  him  to  choose  an  abstract 
subject  for  his  next  composition,  and  see  if  he 
couldn't  work  in  something  original.  Johnny  chose 
the  theme  "  Luck,"  as  being  somewhat  in  the  line  of 
his  own  reflection,  and  withal  a  word  of  only  four 
letters,  which  made  it  seem  comparatively  easy  to 
write  upon.  The  following  is  the  result  of  his 
lucubrations.  (We  will  say  that  Johnny  is  not 
responsible  for  the  spelling,  which  has  been  emended 
for  the  convenience  of  the  printer.  Johnny  himself 
uses  the  J.  Billings  system). 

"  LUCK  is  of  a  great  many  different  kinds,  and  I 
never  saw  a  fellow'  yet  that  didn't  have  his  share. 


64  A  MIXED   AFFAIR. 

Such  as  good  luck,  bad  luck,  hard  luck,  just-my4uck, 
and  several  others,  which  I  have  not  time  to  mention. 

"  Good  luck  is  not  very  plenty.  A  fellow  some- 
times has  a  great  streak  of  it,  though,  as  when  he  gets 
typhoid  fever  or  pneumonia,  and  can't  go  to  school. 

"  Bad  luck  grows  everywhere,  and  a  fellow  doesn't 
have  to  get  over  the  fence  to  steal  all  he  wants. 
The  worst  luck  I  know  anything  about  is  to  invite 
your  girl  to  go  to  a  picnic,  and  then  have  to  stay 
home  and  take  care  of  the  baby.  Besides,  it  is 
tough  on  the  baby. 

"  Hard  luck  is  a  good  deal  like  bad  luck,  only 
there  is  more  of  it  lying  around  loose.  It  is  hard 
luck  for  a  fellow  to  walk  five  miles  to  go  skating, 
and  find  that  some  other  fellow  has  sawed  it  all  up 
to  keep  meat  cold  in  summer  with.  But  it  is  a  good 
deal  harder  luck  still,  to  find  this  out  after  you  have 
got  into  the  pond.  I  don't  know  as  there  is  any 
harder  work  than  walking  in  frozen  trousers. 

"A  good  example  of  just-my-luck  is  having  to 
write  this  composition.  Every  fellow  inust  expect 
to  have  a  good  deal  of  just-my-luck  in  life.  That  is 
one  of  the  things  I  don't  understand  —  why  people 
never  have  any  luck  except  just  their  own.  Nobody 
ever  gets  a  hold  of  anybody  else's  luck;  and  yet 
every  fellow  is  clean  disgusted  with  what  he,  has. 
Seems  as  though  there  is  a  great  chance  for  black 
swaps  here. 

"Please  excuse  my  bow.  I  have  got  on  a  dude 
collar." 


SEASIDE  LIFE. 


FEOM  A  DECIDEDLY  DISGRUNTLED   STANDPOINT. 

HIS  is  the  seaside. 

These  animated  barber- 
poles,  which  you  observe 
laboring  among  the  bil- 
lows, or  stretched  ex- 
hausted at  full  length 
upon  the  sand,  are  bathers. 
Yonder  you  see  two  of 
them  bobbing  up  and  down 
at  the  end  of  a  long  rope. 
They  are  a  male  and  a  female  bather.  Presently 
the  female  bather  will  give  a  terrible  scream,  throw 
up  her  hands,  and  drift  out  to.  sea.  She  will  be  try- 
ing to  play  off  the  "  Save  me !  save  me  ! "  dodge  on 
the  young  man  with  the  variegated  suit. 

But  she  will  have  reckoned  rashly,  for  the  young 
man  is  not  the  inheritor  of  Captain  Webb's  mantle ; 
neither  is  he  very  eager  to  marry  the  companion  of 
his  watery  gambols.  He  will  straightway  strike  out 
for  shore,  via  the  rope,  yelling  lustily  for  "  help !  " 

65 


66  SEASIDE   LIFE. 

And  by  the  time  he  is  pulled  up  on  the  beack  by 
half-a-hundred  of  his  brother  and  sister  barber-poles, 
and  pounded  and  pumped  and  rolled  in  the  sand, 
and  half-smothered  in  blankets,  the  unfortunate 
female  who  trusted  too  fondly  to  his  prowess  and 
devotion  will  be  down  among  the  fishes  —  unless  she 
keeps  on  to  Liverpool. 

This? — oh,  no,  this  is  not  a  rabbit-hutch  ;  it  is  a 
bathing-house. 

This  is  the  bathing-house  which  was  occupied  by 
the  young  lady  who  went  out  to  sea. 

You  may  enter  the  mournful  place  —  if  you  can. 
It  will  be  a  long  time  before  she  will  need  it  again. 

It  seems  almost  like  sacrilege  to  invade  the  silent 
precincts. 

These  are  her  shoes.  They  are  built  very  low  in 
front  and  very  high  behind,  like  a  Dutch  merchant- 
man. They  will  never  pain  her  more,  nor  cause  her 
little  corns  to  throb,  poor  girl ! 

Those  long  pouches  suspended  from  the  eaves  are 
her  stockings.  They  are  silk,  man  —  black  silk,  and 
cost  seventy -five  dollars. 

The  padding  is  of  downiest  cashmere  wool,  the  em- 
broidery is  of  old  gold  thread,  the  bindings  are  of  satin. 

Put  them  in  your  pocket.  They  will  bring  enough 
to  pay  a  day's  board  at  the  Grand  Pavilion. 


SEASIDE  LIFE.  67 

Alas,  for  the  uncertainty  of  life  and  all  its  frail 
possessions  ! 

This  large  mound  in  the  corner  is  her  dress.  Her 
diamond  rings  are  in  the  pocket ;  but  time  flies  and 
search  would  be  vain. 

No  man  could  find  their  hiding-pla<3e  inside  of 
fifty-six  hours. 

What  are  you  looking  for  ? 

The  mate  to  that  whopper  of  a  boxing-glove  ? 

Why,  man !  that  is  not  a  boxing-glove.  That  is 
her  bustle. 

Come  away !  I  hear  her  mother  calling.  Presently 
she  will  have  us  >treed,  unless  we  dust. 

This  is  the  hotel.  Stand  here  at  the  corner  of  the 
piazza  and  look  down  its  long  vista.  What  a  show 
of  little  ankles  and  dainty  slippers !  You  must  know 
that  fashion  culminates  in  foot-wear  this  season,  or 
else  the  dear  creatures  would  not  be  so  delightfully 
vain. 

The  four  hundred  and  ninety-eight  odd  slip- 
pers which  we  at  this  moment  gaze  upon,  should 
their  aggregate  cost  be  computed,  would  probably 
reach  the  pretty  sum  of  sixty  thousand  dollars, 
and  the  accompanying  hose  would  not  fall  far 
short. 

Let  us  enter  the  large  hall. 


68 


SEASIDE   LIFE. 


No,  that  is  not  an  electric-light.     It  is  the  Alaska 
diamond  on  the  shirt-front  of  the  urbane  clerk. 


He  is  expected  to  smoke  fifty-cent  cigars  and  look 
grand.     Occasionally  he   condescends  to  answer  a 


THE  BABY   AT   THE  TABLE.  69 

question,  if  it  comes  from  a  millionaire  or  a  member 
of  the  presidential  party.  We  may  look  at  him, 
but  not  long.  Splendor  is  not  good  for  the  eyes. 

Ah  !  there  is  the  gong  for  dinner. 

We  must  not  get  caught  inside  the  hotel  after  the 
dining-room  doors  are  opened,  or  we  shall  lose  all 
our  money.  Let  us  depart.  Take  care  !  do  not  step 
on  those  long-pointed  things  ! 

What  are  they  ? 

They  are  the  toes  of  a  dude's  shoes.  You  will  see 
him  coming  in  at  the  door  presently.  I  declare  !  it 
is  the  young  man  who  did  not  rescue  the  drowning 
maiden. 

How  ruddy  his  cheeks  are,  after  his  sea-bath,  and 
he  has  got  "  a  beastly  appetite,  y'knaouw."  After 
dinner  he  will  smoke  a  prime  cigar  and  flirt  with  one 
of  the  owners  of  the  pretty  ankles  on  the  front  piazza. 

Such  is  seaside  life  —  it  would  almost  make  me 
willing  to  be  a  dude. 


THE  BABY  AT  THE  TABLE. 

The  meeting  was  called  to  order  at  eight  o'clock 
A.  M.,  with  the  baby  in  the  chair.  After  rapping 
the  table  violently  to  secure  the  attention  of  those 
present,  the  chairman  made  a  motion  to  upset  the 


70  THE  BABY   AT   THE   TABLE. 

butter.  The  motion  was  seconded,  but  not  in  time, 
and  the  butter  was  carried. 

The  minutes  of  the  last  meeting  were  then  read 
and  disapproved.  During  the  recital,  the  chairman 
emphasized  his  displeasure  by  throwing  a  muffin  at 
the  secretary.  The  report,  however,  was  completed, 
and  the  muffin  laid  on  the  table. 

The  regular  business  of  the  meeting  was  then 
taken  up.  It  was  voted  to  allow  the  chairman  a 
glass  of  milk,  a  muffin,  and  a  small  piece  of  steak. 
Exception  being  taken  to  the  latter,  it  was  allowed 
to  take  the  floor  in  its  own  defence".  The  chairman 
demanded  a  larger  piece,  and,  after  fa  brief  consulta- 
tion, the  demand  was  granted. 

The  matter  of  a  bib  for  the  chairman  having  been 
brought  up  by  the  discovery  that  that  article  had 
been  surreptitiously  removed  and  deposited  under 
the  table,  the  nurse  was  requested  to  replace  the 
same.  The  chairman  objected,  on  the  ground  that 
bibs  were  unnecessary  and  undignified.  Objection 
overruled,  and  bib  replaced. 

At  this  point  the  chairman  called  attention  to  a 
large  existing  deficit  in  the  supply  of  milk,  and  sug- 
gested an  assessment  on  the  cream-pjtcher.  It  was 
thought  best,  however,  to  supply  the  deficiency  from 
the  diurnal  endowment  in  the  pantry,  and  the  mat- 


THE  ADVANTAGES   OF  POVERTY.  71 

ter  was  discussed  in  a  very  animated  manner  by  the 
chairman  and  several  members  of  the  convention. 
The  chairman's  objection  was  finally  overruled  as  a 
veto  for  cream  only,  and  the  bill  was  passed. 

On  motion  of  the  nurse,  the  chairman  was  tied 
into  his  chair,  to  prevent  his  taking  the  floor — a 
very  unparliamentary  proceeding.  Upon  discover- 
ing this  piece  of  strategy  on  the  part  of  the  opposi- 
tion, the  chairman  was  very  indignant,  and  objected 
with  such  force  and  vehemence  that  his  countenance 
became  fairly  florid.  While  emphasizing  his  remarks 
by  successive  gestures,  he  removed  the  cutlery,  crock- 
ery, and  glassware  from  his  immediate  vicinity,  and 
drew  a  large  section  of  the  tablecloth  into  his  lap. 

A  motion  to  adjourn  was  hastily  made  by  the 
nurse,  and  was  participated  in  by  the  chairman. 
The  meeting,  being  thus  left  without  a  quorum,  was 
declared  adjourned  by  the  secretary,  subject  to  the 
call  of  the  chairman. 


THE  ADVANTAGES  OF  POVERTY. 

FEW  people  seem  to  appreciate  the  advantages  of 
poverty.  Perhaps  this  is  because  so  many  people 
are  poor.  At  all  events,  you  seldom  see  a  man  who 
really  enjoys  dodging  his  creditors,  or  wearing  old 


72  THE   ADVANTAGES   OF   POVERTY. 

clothes,  or  eating  corned-beef.  Occasionally  you  do 
meet  such  a  man,  but  it  is  generally  in  jail. 

Poverty  is  not  a  beautiful  thing  to  look  at  —  that 
is,  close  to.  But  a  man  can  stand  a  good  way  off 
from  it,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  discover 
a  great  many  attractive  features  about  the  thing. 
In  the  first  place,  poverty  makes  a  man  industrious 
—  very  industrious,  sometimes  —  and,  according  to 
the  great  majority  of  people  who  write  essays  on  in- 
dustry, there  are  few  things  more  desirable  in  this 
world. 

I  must  admit  that  nothing  makes  a  more  pleasing 
impression  upon  my  mind  than  to  see  a  fellow-being 
engaged  in  labor.  It  is  a  beautiful  sight,  I  can  sit 
for  hours  wondering  why  blind  prejudice  prevents 
that  man  from  seeing  that  he  is  one  of  the  most 
highly  blessed  and  fortunate  of  human  creatures. 
Ah,  industry  is  a  great  virtue,  a  great  blessing,  an 
inestimable  privilege  !  It  is  one  of  the  shining  ad- 
vantages of  poverty,  without  which  the  state  of  the 
impecunious  would  be  pitiful  indeed. 

A  tramp  asleep  in  an  orchard,  with  his  pockets  full 
of  pears,  and  the  soft  light  of  the  summer  afternoon 
dancing,  with  the  breeze-stirred  leaves,  upon  his 
somewhat  bronzed  and  peaceful  countenance,  may  be 
more  ideally  picturesque  than  the  horny-handed  far- 


THE  ADVANTAGES  OF  POVERTY.        73 

m<er  bending  over  and  gathering  potato-bugs  in  a 
four-quart  pail ;  but  he  is  not  half  so  beautiful  in  the 
•eyes  of  the  moralist  and  the  political  economist. 
Yes,  my  friends,  industry  is  a  great  virtue  and  a 
great  advantage,  which  can  only  be  enjoyed  and  ex- 
emplified to  the  full  by  the  man  who  is  so  poor  that 
he  can't  help  it. 

Then,  again,  poverty  makes  a  man  brave.  This  is 
a  great  advantage,  when  provisions  are  scarce  and 
the  way  to  the  hen-roost  lies  through  the  jaws  of  the 
bull-dog.  The  negro  exemplifies  this  virtue,  per- 
haps, better  than  any  other  chronic  pauper.  Many 
generations  of  poverty  have  bred  bravery  in  him,  as 
patriotism  bred  fortitude  in  the  Spartans.  Talk 
about  courage  — nothing  makes  a  man  so  thoroughly 
brave  as  hunger,  and  nothing  makes  a  man  so  hungry 
as  poverty. 

Note,  also,  as  one  of  the  advantages  of  poverty, 
the  tendency  to  economy.  Economy  is  a  big  thing. 
The  man  who  saves  two  dollars  a  year  by  picking  up 
his  own  cigar-stubs  and  smoking  them,  instead  of 
buying  cigars  at  the  drug-store,  is  a  great  man,  and 
if  he  lives  long  enough  he  will  probably  make  his 
mark  in  the  world,  with  the  help  of  the  sexton.  I 
do  admire  economy ;  it  is  a  manly  virtue,  and 
nothing  fosters  its  growth  like  poverty. 


74  THE  ADVANTAGES    OF   POVERTY. 

It  is  economy  which  prompts  the  poor  man  to  get 
along  without  a  doctor ;  and  then,  you  see,  he  only 
has  to  pay  the  undertaker.  Economy  encourages 
the  manufacture  of  paper-collars,  and  helps  to  keep 
the  misguided  Chinamen  out  of  this  country.  It  is 
economy  which  enables  one  pair  of  trousers  to  ac- 
commodate two  generations,  and  inspires  women  to  be 
barbers  in  their  own  families,  thus  embittering  the 
spirit  of  childhood  and  ruining  love's  fair  young 
dream  in  the  green-apple  season  of  life. 

But  the  greatest  of  all  the  advantages  of  poverty 
is  that  it  inspires  a  man  to  be  ambitious.  It  makes 
him  long  for  something  better.  Aspiration  is  the 
noblest  virtue  to  which  the  race  is  heir,  and  poverty 
makes  us  all  aspire  —  to  be  rich.  There  are  always 
rounds  upon  which  the  poor  man  may  climb  ;  but, 
alas !  they  are  generally  the  rounds  of  the  tax-collec- 
tor. There  is  always  room  for  him  at  the  top  —  in 
the  gallery  of  life's  flitting  show,  as  it  were.  On- 
ward and  upward  is  his  motto  —  an  excellent  motto 
for  a  powder-mill,  but  a  very  poor  one  for  a  tread- 
mill. And  yet,  so  long  as  it  helps  the  wheel  around, 
the  world  applauds,  and  the  moralists  and  the 
economists  cry,  "  Well  done !  " 


THE  SNOW-SHOE.  75 


THE  SNOW-SHOE. 

THE  snow-shoe  has  came  to  stay.  I  have  a  pair 
of  them  in  my  closet  now,  that  will  stay  there  until 
I  get  a  chance  to  sell  them.  They  cost  me  four 
dollars  and  fifty  cents,  and  I  am  in  receipt  of  just 
about  twenty  cents'  worth  of  fun  from  them  in- 
three  seasons.  To  be  sure,  that  isn't  the  snow- 
shoes'  fault.  Last  year  we  had  six  inches  of  snow, 
and  the  year  before  we  didn't  have  any  —  to  speak 
of.  This  year,  I  think,  we  shall  have  some  along  in 
March  —  perhaps  enough  to  start  the  maple  sap 
running.  * 

I  took  my  first  tramp  on  snow-shoes  when  there 
were  six  inches  of  snow  on  the  ground.  That  was 
last  winter.  I  tramped  down  to  the  end  of  the  gar- 
den, and  was  transported  with  delight.  I  had  no- 
idea  snow-shoeing  was  so  easy.  Before  I  started 
back,  being  somewhat  out  of  breath  and  a  little  lame 
in  the  calves,  I  took  off  the  snow-shoes  and  carried 
them  on  my  shoulder.  If  I  was  delighted  at  first,  I 
was  enraptured  then.  I  never  realized  before  how 
easy  walking  was. 

I  have  experimented  somewhat  with  snow-shoes, 
and  find  that  the  best  places  to  use  them  are  on  the 


76  THE   SNOW-SHOE. 

solid  ice,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  road.  I  once  be- 
longed to  our  town  snow-shoe  club.  When  the  boys 
used  to  start  out  for  a  tramp,  they  always  walked  in 
the  hollow  beside  the  road  rather  than  climb  fences. 
One  moonlight  night  I  noticed  it  was  pretty  smooth 
and  nice  up  in  the  road,  so  I  got  up  there.  I  was 
surprised  to  find  what  an  improvement  it  was,  and  I 
called  all  the  fellows  up.  We  walked  for  quite  a 
distance  there,  and  finally,  I  took  my  snow-shoes  off, 
and  discovered  that  it  was  a  great  relief.  I  walked 
along  comfortably  in  my  moccasins,  and  got  about 
two  miles  ahead  of  the  club.  Then  I  sat  down 
to  wait.  When  the  boys  came  up,  they  challenged 
me  to  a  race  across  the  fields,  home.  I  said :  "  All 
right.  Wait  until  I  leave  my  snow-shoes  in  this 
barn."  I  then  got  over  the  fence  and  ran  through 
the  snow,  reaching  home  about  an  hour  and  a  quar- 
ter ahead  of  the  club.  The  next  day  I  said: 
"  Boys,  I  must  resign,  unless  you  will  let  me  join  in 
your  tramps  without  the  formality  of  snow-shoes." 
They  wouldn't  do  it ;  so  I  resigned. 

I  have  seen  some  races  on  snow-shoes,  but  I  never 
saw  any  such  contest  on  the  actual,  unbeaten  snow. 
They  always  take  place  on  the  ice,  or  on  a  hard 
track.  I  have  often  wondered  why  it  would  not  do 
just  as  well  to  tie  a  half-pound  weight  to  each 


THE   SNOW-SHOE.  7T 

man's  foot,  or  else   call  it  an   obstruction   race   to 
begin  with? 

I  like  to  see  a  man  with  a  pair  of  snow-shoes  on, 
getting  over  a  fence.  He  approaches  it  as  one- 
would  a  long-lost  friend,  with  arms  outstretched,  and 
face  wreathed  in  smiles.  He  grasps  the  top  board 
or  rail,  as  the  case  may  be,  and  elevates  one  of  his 
beautiful  Chicago  flats  to  the  second  board  or  rail 
from  the  bottom.  Then  he  tucks  his  snow-shoe  as 
far  in  as  he  can,  pulls  himself  laboriously  up,  and 
inserts  C.  flat  number  two.  Now  comes  the  tug-of- 
war  —  the  grand  pas  de  fascination.  He  is  to  get  C. 
flat  number  one  over  the  top  of  the  fence.  He 
nerves  himself,  sidles  along  a  little,  disengages  flat 
number  one,  turns  the  toe  in,  Indian  fashion,  exe- 
cutes a  grand  upward  flourish,  misses  his  aim  !  The 
unwieldy  snow-shoe  comes  back  with  a  rush,  snatches 
the  man  from  the  fence,  catches  its  tail  in  the  snow, 
involves  man,  Chicagos  number  two,  snow-bank, 
portions  of  fence,  red  mittens,  and  several  other 
things  in  a  grand  meUe  of  confusion,  and  finally 
becomes  the  only  prominent  feature  in  the  land- 
scape, sticking  up  pathetically  out  of  the  snow.  By 
and  by  a  hand  comes  up,  a  red  mitten  comes  off, 
there  is  a  frantic  struggle  with  the  fastenings  of  the- 
snow-shoe,  and  at  last  it  drops  off,  and  the  victim 


78  THE  SNOW-SHOE. 

rises  from  his  snowy  couch,  very  red  in  the  face, 
very  white  in  the  garments,  and  very  blue  in  the 
surrounding  atmosphere.  He  then  takes  off  the 
other  snow-shoe,  and  climbs  over  the  fence  in  a  civ- 
ilized manner.  This  is  a  beautiful  and  very  effect- 
ive scene,  when  properly  carried  out. 

But  the  snow-shoe  is  doubtless  of  practical  value 
on  experienced  feet.  Some  men  get  so  that  they 
can  walk  three  or  four  miles  a  day  with  these 
impediments,  and  I  once  saw  a  hunter  returning 
from  the  woods,  with  no  evidences  on  his  person 
of  having  fallen  down,  and  carrying  three  rabbits  in 
his  left  hand.  I  approached  to  get  a  nearer  view  of 
this  prodigy,  and  discovered  that  he  had  a  large 
tin  pan  fastened  to  each  foot. 


A  SWALLOW  TALE. 


THE   HISTORY  OF   A  TOPER. 

HE  toper  is  born, 
not  made.  In  this 
respect  he  is  a 
good  deal  like 
everybody  else. 
And  yet,  the  fact 
remains  that  not 
everybody  can  be 
a  toper.  This  is 
what  is  called  a 
paradox.  Life  is 
a  paradox. 

I  once  knew  a 
toper.  He  was  both  born  and  made  —  had  been 
completed  for  a  good  while  when  I  first  made  his 
acquaintance.  He  was  serving,  at  the  time,  as 
headlight  on  a  freight  engine.  His  nose  could 
be  seen  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  on  a  dark 
night,  and  when  newly  kindled  by  a  smoking  hot 
Scotch,  would  outshine  the  most  powerful  electric 

79 


80  A   SWALLOW   TALE. 

light  ever  invented.  His  duty  was  to  sit  a-straddle 
of  the  cowcatcher,  just  in  front  of  the  smokestack, 
on  engine  No.  9,  Boston  night  freight,  and  shine. 
Thus  he  went  flying  through  Vermont  every  night, 
facing,  sometimes,  the  balmy  breezes  from  the  mos- 
quito swamps,  and  again  the  icy  butt  of  the  north 
wind,  as  it  came  whistling  back  over  the  snowy  fields ; 
and  thus  I  first  saw  him,  on  a  chill  November  night, 
as  the  freight  stopped  at  a  way  station  for  wood  and 
water.  I  was  astonished  to  see  the  dazzling  head- 
light suddenly  develop  a  pair  of  legs  and  a  couple  of 
arms,  encased  in  a  frosted  ulster ;  with  which  appen- 
dages the  aforesaid  light  made  its  way  down  to  the 
platform,  and  stamped  into  the  waiting-room,  yelling 
at  the  top  of  an  extraordinary  pair  of  lungs,  — 
"  Hotter'n  blazes V  lemon-peel'ii'  red  pepper !  " 
Whereupon  a  great  bowl  of  steaming  grog  emerged 
from  an  inner  room  in  the  hands  of  a  very  small  and 
very  sleepy  boy,  and  was  promptly  put  under  shelter 
by  the  animated  headlight.  While  I  was  recovering 
from  my  intense  amazement,  the  bell  of  the  engine 
rang,  and  my  friend  with  the  glowing  nose  mounted 
again  to  his  icy  perch,  illuminating  the  dreary  land- 
scape, as  the  train  pulled  out  into  the  fields,  scatter- 
ing the  palest  of  sparks  at  every  puff. 

My  curiosity  was  thoroughly  aroused,  and  I  made 


A  SWALLOW   TALE.  81 

inquiries  where  this  strange  individual  might  be  met 
with  during  his  hours  of  release  from  the  strange  and 
arduous  task  which  nature  and  his  habits  of  life  had 
imposed  upon  him.  I  was  told  that  he  occupied  a 
corner  of  the  baggage-car  on  the  returning  Montreal 
express  during  the  day;  that  his  hours  of  slumber 
were  from  eight  A.  M.  until  twelve,  noon,  and  that  if  I 
should  board  the  train  at  one  of  the  southern  Vermont 
stations,  I  might  have  an  opportunity  to  converse  with 
this  champion  toper  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

I  did  as  suggested,  but  it  was  more  than  a  week 
before  I  could  creep  into  the  confidence  of  my  friend 
with  the  luminous  nose  sufficiently  to  inquire  of  him 
the  particulars  of  his  remarkable  career.  At  last, 
after  I  had  nearly  used  up  a  brand-new  mileage 
ticket,  I  so  far  won  his  regard  by  my  persistency  and 
the  gourd-like  qualities  of  my  pocket-flask,  that  he 
confided  to  me  the  following  marvellous  tale,  — 

"  I  was  born,  when  just  entering  upon  my  first  year, 
at  Winooski,  Vermont,  on  the  first  day  of  August, 
1849.  The  first  thing  which  exerted  a  shaping  in- 
fluence upon  my  career  occurred  about  two  weeks 
after  my  appearance  in  this  world,  when  I  was  put 
upon  the  ^bottle  —  an  event  which  I  have  never  ceased 
to  deplore,  as  I  am  confident  that  it  was  the  means  of 
early  forming  in  me  the  bad  habits  which  have 


82  A   SWALLOW   TALE. 

fc. 

brought  me  to  my  present  condition.  At  all  events, 
I  subsisted  upon  the  bottle  until  I  was  about  a  year 
old  —  being  continually  in  such  a  state  of  intoxica- 
tion that  not  only  was  I  unable  to  stand  upon  my 
feet,  but  reliable  witnesses  have  said  that  my  lan- 
guage was  exceedingly  incoherent,  also  that  I  hic- 
coughed a  great  deal,  and  that  large  portions  of  my 
time  were  spent  in  the  emission  of  the  most  bacchana- 
lian howls  and  outcries. 

"At  the  age  of  one  year  I  began  to  take  a  little 
solid  food  and  to  emerge  from  my  state  of  chronic  in- 
ebriety. I  might  even  have  become  a  temperance  re- 
former, for  aught  I  know,  if  Fortune  had  not  been 
still  against  me.  In  an  evil  hour  I  was  taken  with 
colic,  and  in  order  to  ease  my  pangs  the  well-mean- 
ing but  incautious  physician  prescribed  a  stiff  dose 
of  ginger-tea,  with  a  stick  in  it.  That  stick  was  the 
twig  which  inclined  me  to  the  bent  which  I  have 
hitherto,  followed.  From  that  hour  forth,  I  was  in  a 
state  of  protracted  imaginary  colic. 

"My  dawning  intelligence  informed  me  that  in 
order  to  be  warmed  and  cheered  within  I  must  yell 
and  howl  without,  not  omitting  to  clap  my  baby  fists 
with  a  tragic  air  upon  that  portion  of  my  anatomy 
whence  the  yearning  seemed  to  proceed.  If  the 
stick  was  not  sufficient  to  satisfy  the  aching  void 


A  SWALLOW  TALE.  83 

within,  it  needed  but  louder  and  more  vociferous 
howls  to  increase  the  amount  of  timber  in  the  gin- 
ger-tea. Alas !  how  little  my  too-indulgent  parents 
dreamed  that  in  so  doing  they  were  not  only  con- 
tributing to  the  profits  of  the  corner  drug-store,  but 
also  snatching  their  beloved  child  from  the  joys  and 
advantages  of  the  local  Good  Templars'  Lodge. 

"  Still,  there  might  have  been  a  chance  for  me. 
When  I  passed  the  age  of  colic,  and  could  no  longer 
impose  upon  my  friends  as  I  had  been  wont,  there 
was  a  brief  period  when  the  plastic  materials  of  my 
being  might  have  been  moulded  in  a  different 
fashion.  But,  as  cruel  Fate  would  have  it,  the 
Sunday-school  to  which  I  belonged  attended  in  a 
body  a  temperance  picnic.  I  went,  I  tasted,  I  was 
conquered.  A  mince-pie,  which  some  good  deacon's 
wife  had  smuggled  into  the  general  provisions,  went 
straight  to  the  old  yearning  vacuity,  and  sealed, 
once  and  forever,  my  destiny.  I  stole  the  pie.  I 
feasted  upon  it  in  hollows  in  the  rocks.  I  came 
forth  like  a  ravening  wolf,  and  searched  among  the 
boodle  until  I  found  two  others  worse  than  the  first. 
That  night  I  had  the  colic  in  dead  earnest,  but  I  felt 
that  I  deserved  it  and  not  a  whisper  escaped  my 
pallid  lips.  I  bore  it  like  a  hero,  and  the  very  next 
temperance  picnic  found  me  on  deck  among  the  first 


84 


A   SWALLOW   TALE. 


arrivals.  So  matters  went  on,  until  I  discovered  the 
nature  of  the  '  stick '  which  had  made  the  ginger-tea 
and  the  temperance  mince-pie  so  pleasant  to  my 


palate.     Then,  farewell,  virtue  !    farewell,  ambition ! 
farewell,  hope ! 

"  I  was  a  bright  scholar  —  at  least,  so  they  said 
who  saw,  even  in  those  earlier  years,  the  complexion 


A   SWALLOW   TALE.  85 

of  my  nose.  My  parents  fondly  imagined  that  it 
came  from  weeping ;  but  ah !  they  little  suspected 
that  it  came  from  smiles.  Why  should  I  continue 
the  sad,  sad  story  ?  You  know  how  it  is  yourself. 
I  took  the  pledge  —  in  fact,  I  took  it  a  number  of 
times  ;  but  I  never  made  any  use  of  it.  I  wore  the 
blue  ribbon,  that  I  might  be  tempted  and  fall.  I 
made  resolves  and  vows  —  not  to  be  counted  that 
time.  I  was  labored  with  by  Bands  of  Hope  and 
bands  of  despair.  I  reformed  —  always  until  the 
next  time.  My  nose  became  brighter  and  brighter 
as  my  character  lost  its  shining  qualities.  They  say 
that  the  strength  always  goes  out  of  the  weakest 
part  of  a  man  into  the  strongest. 

"  One  day,  when  I  was  in  the  lowest  depths  of 
degradation,  too  poor  to  be  drunk,  and  too  drunk  to 
be  anything  but  poor,  I  lay  down  somewhere  on  the 
railroad  track  and  went  to  sleep.  In  the  middle  of 
the  night  down  thundered  the  Boston  freight  upon 
me.  I  woke  up  just  enough  to  see  the  glimmer  of 
the  great  headlight,  half  a  mile  away,  and  lay  stupidly 
staring  at  it.  Suddenly  it  seemed  to  grow  paler  and 
paler,  the  engineer  whistled  down  brakes,  and  the 
great  train  came  to  a  standstill  about  twenty  rods 
from  where  I  lay.  The  engineer  and  fireman  came 
running  down  the  track. 


A    SUBSTITUTE   FOR   WAR. 


"  4  Well,  I  declare  !  It's  a  man  !  '  cried  one  of  them, 
shielding  his  eyes  :  '  What  a  nose,  !  ' 

"  '  Do  you  want  a  job  ?  '  asked  the  other. 

•"  4  Does  it  involve  the  use  of  spiritus  f  rumenti  ?  '  I 
inquired. 

"  4  Necessarily,  it  does,'  was  the  reply. 

"'Then  I  want  the  job.' 

"  So  I  came  to  be  a  locomotive  headlight." 


A  SUBSTITUTE  FOR  WAR. 

JUST  think  what  a  terribly  destructive  affair  a 
war  at  this  stage  of  the  world's  progress  would  be ! 
What  with  improved  magazine  guns,  dynamite 
bombs,  cannons  almost  big  enough  to  bring  down 
the  moon,  and  all  the  diabolical  machinery  which 
modern  science  has  devised  for  the  destruction  of 
mankind,  a  person  patriotically  inclined  might  just  . 
as  well  put  an  end  to  himself  in  some  decent  private 
manner,  beforehand,  as  to  go  to  war  and  get  blown 
into  three  or  four  thousand  pieces.  And,  really,  I 
cannot  see  how  a  soldier,  under  such  circumstances, 
could  possibly  be  collected  (though  he  might  un- 
doubtedly succeed  in  keeping  cool). 

Such  being  the  state  of   affairs,  it  is  very  plain 


A    SUBSTITUTE    FOR    WAR.  87 

that  the  old-fashioned  military  style  o_  arguing 
international  questions  has  had  its  day.  War  has 
become  altogether  too  destructive  to  suit  the  de- 
structionists.  Like  the  genius  that  escaped  the 
fisherman's  opened  jug,  or  the  sprite  that  would  not 
go  back  into  the  box  to  please  Pandora,  the  power 
which  military  science  has  evoked  is  greater  than  it 
can  manage.  Now,  then,  what  is  going  to  be  done 
about  it?  Of  course,  governments  will.continue  to 
quarrel  until  the  millenium  comes  along  and  pro- 
vides some  better  source  of  amusement.  And  there 
must  be  some  other  way  of  settling  their  disputes 
than  arbitration.  Talk  is  well  enough  in  congresses 
and  such  bodies,  where  it  never  provokes  anything 
like  bad  feeling,  but  talk  is  never  going  to  settle 
national  quarrels.  One  party  or  the  other  is  going 
to  get  on  its  ear  and  kick  furiously. 

Yes,  there  will  have  to  be  some  fighting  done  still. 
The  question  is,  how  are  we  going  to  tie  this  great 
iron  military  hand  behind  our  backs  ?  The  pressing 
demand  of  the  age  is  a  substitute  for  war;  some- 
thing which  shall  be  decisive  without  being  too 
much  so ;  something  which  shall  produce  conviction 
without  going  to  the  length  of  annihilation. 

As  a  humble  contribution  to  this  subject,  permit 
rne  to  make  a  suggestion.  What's  the  good  of  kill- 


88  A   SUBSTITUTE   FOR   WAR. 

ing  men,  anyhow?  Why  use  instruments  of  destruc- 
tion at  all  ?  Why  kill  a  man  when  a  good,  sound 
drubbing  will  just  as  effectually  convince  him  that 
he  is  in  the  wrong,  and  yet  leave  him  in  a  condition 
to  raise  a  few  more  bushels  of  potatoes  for  his 
family?  'This  brings  me  to  my  practical  proposi- 
tion, which  is  this.  That,  instead  of  the  usual 
military  conflict,  with  its  horrors  of  cannonading 
and  musketry,  and  blood,  and  death  shrieks,  there 
should  be  a  free  fight  between  the  opposing  armies, 
in  which  the  only  weapons  used  should  be  such  as 
Nature  has  seen  fit  to  bestow  upon  every  individual, 
or  which  man  can  stoop  and  pluck  from  the  bosom 
of  mother  earth.  Let  each  side  be  distinguished  by 
some  very  characteristic  uniform,  so  that  a  man's 
foes  shall  not  be  those  of  his  own  household.  Let 
the  battle  wage,  if  necessary,  from  the  dewy  morn 
until  rosy  evening  —  the  longer,  the  merrier.  Let 
every  man  have  free  course  upon  his  enemy's  person. 
Suspend  every  law  except  the  habeas  corpus  law. 
To  be  sure,  the  field  would  be  strewn  with  the  dis- 
abled and  sorely  inconvenienced.  Yet  the  majority 
would  survive  for  future  usefulness  at  the  ballot  box 
and  elsewhere.  There  would  be  no  question  as  to 
which  side  wins  the  day  or  the  week,  if  need  be,  for 
the  fight  would  be  continued  until  every  warrior 


A   SUBSTITUTE   FOR   WAR.  89 

either  took  to  his  heels  or  lay  flat  upon  his  back. 
The  generals  (which  should  be  such  persons  as 
John  L.  Sullivan,  Jake  Kilrain,  Dempsey,  the  light 
weight,  and  others  of  equal  brawn  and  skill)  would 
engage  with  those  of  like  powers  on  the  other  side, 
while  every  subordinate  would  be  expected  to  apply 
his  fist  where  it  would  do  the  most  good. 

If  a  man  must  needs  bleed  for  his  country,  let 
him  bleed  at  the  nose. 

Why  not  ?  Such  a  substitute  for  the  old-fashioned 
style  of  war  would  be  picturesque  and  thoroughly 
enjoyable,  besides  practically  effective.  If  I  will 
travel  in  the  interest  of  this  reform,  what  wealthy 
individual  will  pay  my  expenses?  Speak  all  at 
once,  please. 


THE  ENCORE  FIEND. 


LAP,     clap,     clap,     clap ! 
thump-thump. 

It  is  the  encore  fiend. 
He  is  engaged  in  a  lauda- 
ble endeavor  to  get  his 
money's  worth  at  a  con- 
cert. 

Thus  far  he  has  stamped, 
thumped,'"  clapped,  and 
pounded  every  number  on 
the  programme,  without 
respect  to  the  age,  sex,  or 
previous  condition  of  the 
performers.  And  he  has 
been  pretty  generally  successful  in  his  efforts,  too. 
The  audience  is  well  peppered  with  idiots  who  only 
need  the  trip-hammer  signal  of  the  encore  fiend  to 
raise  their  aesthetic  sensibilities  to  the  demonstrative 
point. 

Miss   Skeags   has  been  out   four   times   already, 
whereas   the   program     entitles    her   to    only   two 

90 


A   BRAVE   DEED.  91 

appearances.  Mr.  Brown  has  warbled  so  often  that 
he  is  getting  noticeably  weak  in  the  knees,  and  his 
acknowledgments  are  becoming  somewhat  erratic. 
Still  the  encore  fiend  survives,  and  his  enthusiasm 
abates  not.  The  performers  regard  him  with  terri- 
fied and  supplicating  glances,  as  he  sits  on  the  edge 
of  his  seat,  craning  his  body  forward,  with  his  cane 
between  his  knees.  As  the  last  note  is  in  process  of 
wailing,  the  cane  conies  up  about  four  inches  from 
the  floor.  The  instant  the  performer  starts  to  re- 
treat from  the  stage,  the  cane  comes  down  with  a 
whack  that  would  have  stripped  all  of  the  seven 
sleepers  of  the  last  rag  of  bed-clothes.  The  audi- 
ence settles  back  in  mute  despair.  I  wonder  what 
a  concert  would  be  without  the  encore  fiend  ?  But 
it  is  useless  to  overtax  the  imagination.  He  will 
always  be  there. 


A  BRAVE  DEED. 

"  TALKING  about  the  bravery  of  engineers,"  said 
a  conductor  on  the  X.  Y.  and  Z.  road,  "  the  most 
remarkable  incident  of  the  kind  that  ever  fell 
under  my  observation  was  in  '79,  when  I  was  in 

charge   of   the    fast    express    between    W and 

C .     One  afternoon,  just  before  we  pulled  out 


92  A  BRAVE   DEED. 

of  the  station  at  W ,  a  lady  came  up  to  me 

•and  handed  me  a  card.  The  card  bore  the  name 
of  one  of  the  prominent  officials  of  another  well- 
known  road.  '  I  am  his  wife,'  said  the  lady,  '  and 
I  want  to  ask  you  if  you  would  permit  my  little 
'boys,  here,  to  ride  on  the  engine  for  a  couple  of 
hours.  They  are  very  anxious  to  know  what  the 
•experience  is,  and  have  been  teasing  me  all  the 
morning  ?  ' 

"  I  hesitated  for  several  minutes.  Then  I  looked 
at  the  eager,  bright,  expectant  faces  of  the  two  little 
boys,  and  made  my  decision.  'Madam,'  I  said,  'it 
is  against  the  rules,  but  if  my  engineer  will  con- 
sent to  take  charge  of  the  little  fellows,  I  will 
transgress  the  regulations  for  once.' 

"  The  lady  thanked  me,  and  we  walked  up  to 
the  engine,  where  Dan  was  sitting  with  his  hand 
on  the  throttle  valve.  '  Dan,'  said  I,  '  can  you 
take  two  inside  passengers  for  a  couple  of  hours  ? ' 
The  lady  smiled  bewitchingly,  and  Dan,  after  squirm- 
Ing  around  for  half  a  minute,  pulled  off  his  cap  and 
replied :  '  I'll  try  to  take  care  of  'em.  But  they 
must  sit  right  still,  ma'am.' 

"  '  Oh  they  shall ! '  cried  the  lady.  '  Boys,  you 
must  sit  perfectly  still  and  do  just  what;-the  gen- 
tleman tells  you.' 


A  BRAVE   DEED.  9$ 

44  4  Yes,  mamma,  we  will,'  promised  the  boys.  I 
lifted  them  up  into  the  cab,  and  promising  their 
mother  that  I  would  bring  them  back  to  her  at 
the  first  convenient  stop  after  a  two-hours  rider 
went  into  the  office  to  see  that  all  was  right,, 
and  then  boarded  my  train  as  the  last  bell 
sounded. 

44 1  couldn't  help  feeling  considerably  anxious- 
about  the  boys  on  the  engine ;  and  yet  I  was 
unable  to  say  why.  Dan  was  a  very  careful  man,, 
and  if  the  boys  followed  his  directions  and  sat  per- 
fectly still  there  really  couldn't  be  any  danger.  I 
went  forward  three  or  four  times,  to  see  that  all 
was  right.  The  boys  seemed  to  be  enjoying  them- 
selves immensely,  and  waved  their  hats  to  me  when 
I  came  out  on  the  -platform  of  the  front  coach. 

44  The  last  time  I  went  out  — "  Here  the  con- 
ductor stopped,  and  shuddered.  - 

44  Well  —  well  ?  "  we  all  asked,  breathlessly. 

44 1  saw  Dan  pick  up  one  of  the  boys  and  pitch  him 
out  of  the  cab  !  "  hissed  the  conductor,  in  an  italicized 
whisper. 

There  was  a  moment's  horrified  silence,  and  then 
the  conductor  continued,  — 

44  Before  my  hair  had  time  to  stiffen  up,  Dan  had 
grabbed  the  other  little  fellow,  and  sent  him  flying. 


94  A   BRAVE   DEED. 

too.  It  was  all  done  in  the  whisk  of  a  lamb's  tail. 
Then  Dan  reversed  the  engine  like  a  flash  and 
screeched,  for  the  brakes.  Heavens  and  earth! 
WJiat  did  I  see  —  a  freight  train  sailing  down  up- 
on us,  not  a  hundred  rods  up  the  grade  !  " 

We  all  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  Noble  Dan ! 
He  stuck  to  his  post  and  saved  the  lives  of  the 
little  fellows  in  his  charge.  "  And  then,"  we  all 
cried,  "  came  the  crash,  and  Dan  perished  like  a 
hero !  " 

"  No,  no  ! "  exclaimed  the  conductor,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  and  smiling  a  ghastly  smile.  "It 
was  rougher  on  Dan  than  that.  Iri  fact,  it  was 
the  worst  grind  on  a  man  I  ever  saw." 

"  How  —  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  vociferated  every 
man  in  the  audience,  fairly  wild  with  suspense. 

"  Why,  the  new  brakes  worked  so  well  that  the 
two  trains  stopped  more  than  fifty  yards  apart, 
and  it  took  the  fireman  of  the  freight  three 
minutes  to  come  over  and  swear  at  us." 

"  Thunderation  !  —  and  what  became  of  the 
boys?" 

"  Oh,  one  of  them  fell  into  a  culvert  and  broke 
his  leg  in  two  places,  and  the  other  one  landed 
in  a  swamp  up  to  his  neck.  But  'twas  an  awful 
grind  on  Dan,  wasn't  it  ?  " 


JOURNALISTIC    PARTNERSHIPS.  95 


JOUKNALISTIC   PARTNERSHIPS. 

WHEN  I  first  started  out  on  my  wild  journalistic 
career,  it  was  in  partnership  with  a  long-haired 
young  man  from  St.  Louis.  He  said  he  knew  of 
a  village  in  the  northwestern  part  of  Missouri  where 
he  thought  it  would  be  quite  safe  to  start  a  large 
daily  paper,  something  like  the  New  York  Tribune, 
only  not  quite  so  heavy.  The  village  was  away 
from  any  line  of  railroad,  and  the  stage  passed 
through  it  only  twice  a  week,  so  we  would  not  be 
likely  to  be  much  disturbed  by  noise,  etc.  My  long- 
haired friend  said  that  he  could  not  write  if  there 
was  any  noise  in  the  vicinity,  but  that  in  perfect 
stillness  he  could  compose  enough  to  fill  a  paper  like 
the  Tribune,  easily,  in  four  hours.  He  offered  to  put 
in  his  brains  against  my  money.  Enough  —  'twas 
done.  I  suspected  that  he  had  no  brains,  and  I 
knew  I  had  no  money. 

The  paper  was  started  —  at  least,  the  first  number 
of  it  was.  It  was  not  a  monumental  success.  We 
bought  ten  pounds  of  second-hand  type  and  a  chase ; 
then  my  money  gave  out.  The  long-haired  young 
man  from  St.  Louis  sat  down  and  wrote  a  poem  on 
*'  Freedom."  it  took  him  two  days,  and  then  his 


96  JOURNALISTIC   PARTNERSHIPS. 

brains  gave  out.  We  sold  the  type  to  an  old  trap- 
per, to  melt  over  into  bullets,  divided  the  chase 
between  us,  and  parted.  Now  that  I  look  back  on 
the  transaction,  I  think  I  see  where  we  made  our 
mistake.  The  long-haired  young  man  ought  to  have 
put  the  money  into  the  concern,  and  I  ought  to 
have  put  in  the  brains.  Curious  we  didn't  think  of 
it  at  the  time. 

My  second  venture  was  even  more  discouraging. 
I  ran  across  an  "  old  practical  printer,"  who  was  out 
6f  a  job.  He  wasn't  very  old,  though,  come  to  think, 
but  I  didn't  notice  it  at  the  time.  He  said  he  could 
set  eight  thousand  ems  of  type  in  an  hour.  I  told 
him  I  didn't  know  what  an  "  em  "  was,  but  I  was 
ready  to  sail  into  any  project,  short  of  suicide,  pro- 
vided he  would  let  me  keep  hold  of  his  hand.  He 
suggested  that  we  buy  out  a  country  printing-office 
somewhere,  and  start  a  weekly.  I  told  him  I  had 
never  had  any  experience  except  with  a  daily  paper, 
but  I  thought  I  could  soon  learn  the  ropes. 

As  good  luck  would  have  it,  we  found  an  amateur 
editor  with  a  hand-press  and  a  font  of  brevier,  which 
he  was  willing  to  sell  for  $3.85,  because  he  had 
jammed  his  fingers  and  was  mad.  Our  joint  funds 
amounted  to  $3.40 ;  but  the  editor  said  he  would  let 
us  have  the  outfit  for  that  if  we  would  give  a  three 


WtfRNALI£jTIC  PARTNERSHIPS.  9? 

ftlon  ths'  ndt6  for  the  remainder.  I  borrowed  a  piece 
of  paper  and  made  out  the  note.  With  some  diffi- 
culty we  succeeded  in  renting  a*  room  in  the  loft  of  a 
barn,  after  having  encumbered  our  press  and  outfit 
with  a  large  chattel-mortgage. 

The  next  morning  we  began  work.  After  rum- 
maging around  in  all  the  corners  of  my  capacious 
brain,  I  finally  decided  on  a  name  for  our  paper  — • 
the  Perkinsville  Cyclone  —  and  carried  it  over  to  my 
experienced  practical  printer  to  set  up.  Then  I 
spent  a  couple  of  hours  writing  an  editorial  on  "  The 
Issues  of  the  Age."  My  printer  was  still  at  work  on 
the  heading  when  I  carried  him  my  copy.  He 
seemed  to  be  puzzled.  I  suggested  that  he  take  a 
proof  and  see  what  the  trouble  was.  As  he  seemed 
somewhat  embarrassed,  I  retired  to  my  desk  and 
awaited  developments.  Presently  he  handed  me  the 
following  imprint,  ^enolcyC  ellivsnikreP  ehT."  I 
turned  it  upside  down,  and  wrong  end  to,  and  then 
squinted  along  it  as  I  would  along  a  gun-barrel :  but 
still  it  refused  to  be  luminous  with  meaning. 

"  I  think  you  must  have  made  a  mistake  and  set 
this  up  in  Greek,"  I  suggested,  gently.  "  While  I 
am  a  great  admirer  of  the  dead  languages,  and  am 
delighted  to  meet  a  man  whose  classic  culture  crops 
out  so  unconsciously,  still,  if  I  may  be  pardoned  for 


98 

intimating  as  much,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  rural  community  would  much  prefer  to 
have  their  weekly  chronicle  of  events  captioned  in 
the  prevailing  dialect  —  doesn't  it  strike  you  so  ?  " 

My  partner  admitted  that  the  suggestion  contained 
a  modicum  of  sense. 

"  Well,  then,"  I  continued,  "  suppose  you  set  up 
the  heading  as  I  have  written  it,  and  "then  we  will 
proceed  to  get  this  editorial  in  type  and  strike  off  the 
first  column  of  the  paper." 

The  old  practical  printer  went  back  to  his  case, 
and  I  caught  up  my  pen  and  dashed  off  a  few  spicy 
editorial  paragraphs  and  funny  sayings,  to  help  fill 
up  when  the  columns  were  too  short.  I  then  went 
over  to  see  how  he  was  getting  on. 

"  Hello  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  You  have  got  th6se 
types  all  upside  down." 

"  I  know  it,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  can't  seem  to 
make  'em  read  straight,  and  I  didn't  know  but  what 
if  I  set  'em  in  upside  down  and  then  turned 'em 
over  they  might  come  out  right." 

"  How  long  have  you  practised  the  art  of  type- 
setting ?  "  I  asked,  stepping  off  a  few  feet  and  gazing 
at  him. 

"  About  two  hours  and  fifty-five  minutes,"  he  re- 
plied, glancing  at  the  clock. 


JOURNALISTIC  PARTNERSHIPS.  99 

"  Great  Jehosliaphat !  I  thought  you  told  me 
you  were  an  old  practical  printer." 

"  So  I  am." 

"  How  so,  may  I  ask  ?  " 

The  metamorphosed  disciple  of  Guttenberg  turned 
his  vacant  countenance  toward  me  and  laid  the  tip 
of  his  finger  on  his  nose. 

"  I  have  been  engaged  all  my  life,"  he  said,  "  on  a 
little  job  of  color-printing.  Here  it  it." 

We  parted,  and  the  Cyclone  fell  into  the  hands  of  a 
receiver,  the  man  who  received  the  chattel- mortgage. 

Since  then  I  have  engaged  in  many  newspaper 
speculations,  and  have  had  more  partners  than  a 
good-looking  girl  at  a  country  dance  ;  but  none  of 
them  was  quite  so  unique  and  interesting  as  the 
long-haired  young  man  from  St.  Louis,  and  the  old 
practical  printer.  I  often  wonder  where  they  are 
now.  I  think  I  know,  but  don't  like  to  tell.  It 
wouldn't  be  polite. 


L  THE  PROFESSOR'S  WINDOW. 

i 

ARLY   every  winter   evening  —  between 

four  and  five  o'clock,  when  the  days  are 
very  brief  —  the  Professor's  window, 
over  the  way,  with  its  cosy  red  cur- 
tain, blossoms  out,  like  a  great  rose,  with 
such  a  warmth  and  cheerihess  of  color,  that  it  almost 
makes  me  glad  to  look  at  it.  Then  I  know  that  the 
Professor  is  at  his  books,  and  something  almost  like 
a  very  comfortable  sort  of  envy  comes  over  me,  so 
that  I  can  do  nothing  but  sit  and  watch  the  rosy 
curtain,  and  think  of  the  great  and  good  little  man, 
with  that  clean-shaven,  calm  face  of  his  bending 
over  the  table,  and  shining  with  the  thoughts  of 
Plato  and  ^Eschylus. 

For  my  Professor  is  a  Greek,  born  out  of  time,  and 
ten  centuries  behind  his  day.  He  has  no  part  in 
these  rude,  irreverential  times  except  to  turn  and 
look  back  upon  the  temples  of  the  past,  and  point 
them  out  to  those  who  are  hurrying  by  him.  He 
draws  a  moderate  salary  for  this  guide-post  duty  in 
one  of  the  dignified  older  colleges  of  the  land;  but 

100 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  WINDOW.  101 

I  fancy  that  the  good  man  often  sighs  at  the  thank- 
less, humdrum  task,  and  devoutly  wishes  the  text- 
book and  the  class-room  at  the  bottom  of  the  Styx. 
What  satisfaction  can  it  be  to  his  high  soul  to  exact 
the  parts  of  gigeneto  from  a  score  of  unwilling 
spirits  twice  a  day,  to  explain  the  luminous  syntax 
of  Xenophon,  or  pilot  a  stammering  Junior  through 
half  a  page  of  grand  old  ^Eschylus  ? 

I  do  not  blame  my  friend  for  the  light  on  his  face 
as  he  comes  home  in  the  gray  winter  afternoon,  and 
shakes  off  the  snow  from  his  feet  at  his  study  door. 
I  love  to  watch  for  the  blossoming  of  that  red 
curtain  in  the  Professor's  window,  for  I  know  it  is 
the  signal  and  the  symbol  of  a  light  in  that  cozy 
rpom  that  never  was  on  land  or  sea.  I  fancy  that  I 
can  see  through  and  through  the  quiet,  unpretentious 
privacy  of  the  little  red  curtain ;  and,  as  I  sit  at  my 
own  dark  window,  I  -watch  the  books  coming  down 
out  of  the  cases  around  the  wall  —  coming  down 
like  so  many  pet  birds  into  the  Professor's  hands, 
under  his  sleeves,  into  the  big  pockets  of  his  dress- 
ing-gown, and  then  they  all  flutter  over  to  the 
table  and  nestle  down  together  under  the  mellow 
light  of  the  student-lamp.  Bless  the  little  Pro- 
fessor !  how  I  envy  him  ! 

For  two  long  hours  the  curtain  glows,  growing 


102  THE  PROFESSOR'S  WINDOW. 

redder  and  redder  as  the  night  settles  down ;  and 
for  two  long  hours  I  sit  opposite  the  splendor,  and 
covet  it  with  a  wonderful  comfort !  There  is  some- 
thing strangely  delightful  about  this  same  anomalous 
sympathy.  I  do  not  suppose  I  should  have  half 
the  pleasure  if  the  Professor  should  invite  me  in  to 
spend  the  evening  with  him.  I  could  not  tell  him 
half  so  truly  as  I  feel  it  now,  that  I  love  to  think  of 
him  poring  over  his  precious  books,  and  far  out 
of  all  sight  and  hearing  in  his  own  untrespassed- 
upon  wonderland.  Nor  could  he,  I  fancy,  be  him- 
self with  an  alien  at  his  elbow.  He  might  tell 
me  of  his  studies,  but  he  could  not  study.  He 
,  might,  in  the  long  silences,  bend  over  his  book,  but 
the  light  would  not  be  in  his  face.  No,  I  can  see 
him  better  on  this  side  the  little  red  curtain  than  on 
the  other.  I  can  sympathize  far  more  closely  for 
.him  than  I  can  with  him.  Some  day,  perhaps,  I 
shall  get  acquainted  with  the  Professor ;  I  only 
know  him  now.  ^ 

In  two  hours  there  comes  a  sudden  change  over 
the  Professor's  window.  The  very  red  little  curtain 
suddenly  gets  very  black  in  the  face,  and  I  am  ter- 
ribly startled  to  see  it  growing  blacker  and  blacker, 
until  it  is  scarcely  more  than  a  blot  across  the  way. 
But  I  presently  assure  myself  that  the  Professor  has 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  WINDOW.  103 

not  knocked  the  lamp  off  upon  the  floor,  or  hung  his 
hat  over  it,  in  a  fit  of  abstraction,  by  seeing  a  num- 
ber of  shadows  appear  upon  a  large  white  curtain  in 
another  larger  window,  and  among  them  one  which 
I  take  to  be  the  Professor's,  in  his  voluminous 
dressing-gown.  The  Professor  is  at  supper  with  his 
family,  and  being  an  economical  sort  of  a  man,  as  a 
professor  should  be,  he  has  turned  down  his  study 
lamp  very  low,  so  low  that  I  fear  there  will  be  a 
very  disagreeable  and  unclassic  odor  in  the  little 
study  when  he  returns. 

The  white  curtain  in  the  Professor's  dining-room 
window  is  far  more  confidential  than  the  dense  red- 
cloth  shade  in  tjie  study  window.  The  Professor 
sits  between  the  lamp  and  the  curtain,  and  if  good 
fortune  denies  me  a  sight  of  him  at  his  books,  she 
atones  by  disclosing  the  entire  privacy  of  his  board. 
I  can  see  him  as  he  sits  over  against  his  very  good 
and  very  practical  little  wife,  and  dispenses  the 
toothsome  things  which  she  has  provided  for  the 
evening  meal.  Every  now  and  then  he  looks  up, 
and  suspends  his  meditative  knife  and  fork  in  mid- 
air as  he  speaks  to  her.  I  wonder  what  this  modern 
Greek  has  to  say  to  this  little  household  woman. 
Nothing  of  Plato,  doubtless;  very  little,  I  imagine, 
of  the  orators  or  the  bema ;  still  less  of  Greek  roots 


104  THE  PROFESSOR'S  WINDOW. 

and  the  rules  of  prosody.  What  then?  Can  it 
be  —  can  it  be  —  hash?  Perish  the  thought !  a  man 
of  his  sensibilities  talking  about  hash?  And  yet 
the  professor,  doubtless,  is  a  great  admirer  of  his 
wife's  hash.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  were  at 
it  now.  And  if  a  man  may  eat  and  relish  hash,  why 
may  he  not  speak  of  it  ?  I  can't  see  the  slightest 
inconsistency  in  that. 

But,  for  the  sake  of  the  little  romance  which  we 
have  been  weaving  about  the  Professor,  let  us 
assume  that  that  pause  in  his  gastronomical  panto- 
mime, so  vividly  recorded  by  the  white  curtain,  was 
for  the  purpose  of  communicating  to  his  wife  and 
the  children  the  fact  that  when  Demosthenes  was 
young  he  accustomed  himself  to  talking  plainly  and 
gracefully  with  his  mouth  full,  by  running  up  and 
down  the  seashore  and  apostrophizing  the  ocean 
while  his  cheeks  were  stuffed  with  pebbles.  (Some- 
thing tells  me  that  the  Professor  himself  is  one 
of  those  men  who  make  it  a  point  never  to  speak 
until  the}7  swallow  what  they  have  in  their  mouth  at 
the  time.)  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  cannot  be  denied, 
in  the  face  of  that  tell-tale  white  curtain,  that, 
however  reticent  the  Professor  may  be  in  general 
society,  he  is  no  Sphinx  in  the  bosom  of  his  family. 
Such  men,  I  have  noticed,  always  do  let  themselves 


THE  PROFESSOR'S  WINDOW.          .    105 

out  at  home.  They  have  to  have  an  escape-pipe 
somewhere,  and  the  pent-up  steam  of  their  social 
instincts  fairly  hisses  when  it  does  get  a  chance 
to  reach  the  air.  Some  of  the  most  voluble  men 
that  the  world  ever  saw,'  provided  they  have  for 
an  audience  a  little  circle  of  chosen  spirits,  are 
dumb  as  mutes  in  a  promiscuous  assemblage.  They 
will  not  open  their  lips  except  in  monosyllables, 
and  their  very  presence  throws  a  wet  sheet  over  a 
whole  merry  company. 

But  the  Professor  has  laid  down  his  knife  and 
fork,  and  the  little  Grecians  have  done  likewise; 
and  now  we  have  another  brief  processional  pano- 
rama on  the  curtain,  followed  by  a  dreary  blank.  I 
turn  to  the  study  window,  but  it  still  wears  its 
aspect  of  non-committal  gloom.  Five,  ten,  fifteen 
minutes  pass,  and  still  the  student-lamp  burns,  with 
its  shortened  wick,  and  the  red  cyrtain  grows 
thicker  and  blacker  in  the  deepening  night.  Evi- 
dently, the  Professor  is  a  family  man,  albeit  so  great 
a  student,  and  I  doubt  not,  he  is  enjo}ring  his 
quiet  hour  in  the  penetralia  of  his  home,  with  the 
children  gathered  about  his  knee,  and  the  good  wife 
sitting  on  the  other  side  of  the  light  and  delving 
in  a  great  basketful  of  things  from  the  wash  for 
the  stockings  which  are  to  grace  the  Professor's 


106  HOW  THINGS   HAPPENED. 

classic  feet  next  Sunday  morning.  I  am  sorry  that 
the  Professor's  sitting-room  window  does  not  open 
on  the  street,  but  then  there  are  some  domestic 
privacies,  you  know,  which  even  old  bachelors  are 
bound  to  respect. 


HOW   THINGS  HAPPENED. 

AN  ENTERPRISING  PAIR  OF  EDITORS,  WHOSE  PA- 
PER WAS  PRONOUNCED  "SLOW,"  DELIBERATELY 
EVOLVE  A  LITTLE  SPEED. 

IN  the  editorial  rooms  of  the  Spratville  Skullcap 
sat  two  individuals  —  the  managing  editor  and  his 
assistant.'  Both  had  their  feet  upon  the  same 
table  ;  both  were  smoking,  both  meditating. 

"  I  say,  Spilkins,"  exclaimed  the  managing  editor, 
"  something  has  got  to  be  done !  " 

Spilkins  assented  with  a  nod  of  the  head.  He 
had  a  short  neck  and  wore  a  stand-up  collar ;  conse- 
quently, it  required  a  great  effort  on  his  part  to  nod. 
He  only  did  it  when  a  very  decided  affirmation  was 
necessary.  Such  he  evidently  considered  the  pres- 
ent emergency.. 

"We  are  undoubtedly  'slow,'"  continued  the 
managing  editor ;  "  the  great  public  has  said  it,  and 


HOW   THINGS   HAPPENED.  107 

we  have  no  opinions  aside  from  those  of  the  great 
public.  Now,  what  shall  be  done  to  increase  our 
speed?  Speed  we  must  have,  if  it  costs  us  a  new 
spring  suit." 

Spilkins  nodded  again ;  this  time  with  still 
greater  effort.  He  had  just  left  his  measure  at  the 
tailor's. 

"The  matter  stands  just  this  way:  The  great 
public  demands  that  things  shall  happen.  Things 
do  not  happen,  to  any  alarming  extent.  The  col- 
umns of  the  Skullcap  do  not  bristle  with  social 
sensations.  Whose  fault  is  it?  Why  ours,  of 
course.  If  things  don't  happen,  we  should  make 
them  happen.  It  is  the  editor's  business  to  see  that 
the  world  wags  properly.  When  it  gets  tired,  we 
must  put  a  little  red  pepper  on  its  tail  —  is  not  that 
so?" 

'  For  the  third  time,   Mr.  Spilkins   nodded ;  and 

;  this  time  the  button  gave  way  at  the  back  of  his 

neck,  and  his  collar  flew  up  about  his  ears.     It  was 

a   good   omen.     Something  had   already   begun   to 

happen. 

At.  eleven  o'clock,  A.  M.,  Mr.  Spilkins  might  have 
been  seen  trudging  'cross  lots,  leading  a  mangy- 
looking  cur  by  a  string.  Let  us  follow  him.  The 


108  HOW   THINGS   HAPPENED. 

far-off  stroke  of  the  town  clock  announces  the 
empty  hour  of  noon  as  he  reaches  a  rickety  old 
bridge  spanning  a  dark,  deep  gorge  in  the  river. 
All  is  silent  and  lonely,  save  for  the  rushing  of  the 
foaming  water  far  below,  and  the  voice  of  a  hermit 
thrush  in  the  cedars.  Mr.  Spilkins  ties  the  dog  to  a 
tree,  and  walks  up  the  road  a  few  rods  to  the  right. 
No  human  being  is  anywhere  in  sight.  He  crosses 
the  bridge,  and  surveys  the  dusty  highway  in  the 
opposite  direction.  The  coast  is  equally  clear. 
Mr.  Spilkins  returns  to  the  dog,  leads  the  poor 
brute  to  the  centre  of  the  bridge,  picks  him  up 
quickly  and  slings  him  into  the  yawning  abyss. 
Over  and  over  turns  the  sprawling  black  mass,  as  it 
descends  swifter  and  swifter  through  the  awful 
ninety  feet  of  whistling  air.  Then  it  strikes  the 
swift  waters^with  a  thud  that  echoes  dismally  from 
the  damp  walls  of  the  gorge. 

All  these  very  important  particulars,  Mr.  Spilkins 
coolly  notes  on  a  small  pad  of  paper.  He  then  puts 
his  tablets  in  his  pocket,  and  goes  home  to  dinner. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  managing  editor  of  the 
Skullcap  has  not  been  idle.  In  the  early  morning 
his  steps  were  bent  toward  the  lake  shore.  An  old 
fisherman  was  about  setting  sail  upon  the  laughing 
waters  of  the  bay ;  but  a  small  vial  of  laughing 


SOW  MltfGS  fiAPPENEt). 

Water  of  a  stronger  test  of  hilarity  induced  him  to 

forego  his  piscatorial  excursion  ;  and  the  following 

conversation  ensued,  — 

Editor.  —  "  Your  boat  leaks  pretty  badly  ?  " 

Fisherman.  —  "  Leak  like  de  ole  Harry." 

Editor.  — "  How   far   will   she   go    without  sink- 

ing?" 

Fisherman.  —  "If  I  don't  bail  him,  she  go  about 

quarter  mile." 

Editor.  —  "  How  far  can  you  swim  ?  " 
Fisherman.  — "  Fur   as   from   me   to   you,  in   the 

wind." 

Editor.  —  "  What  is  your  boat  worth  ?  " 
Fisherman.  —  "I  let  him  go  for  two  dollars  and 

quarter." 

Editor.  — "  Look  here  ;  I'll  give  you  two  dollars 

and  a  half  if  }^ou'll  let  her  sink  outside  the  docks, 

and  let  me  pick  you  up  with  another  boat." 

Visions  of  unlimited  bottles  of  bait  rose   before 

the  eyes  of  the  ancient  flinger  of  the  line,  and  he 

caved. 

Coming  home,  Mr.  Spilkins  incidentally  omitted 
to  replace  a  pair  of  bars  by  the  railroad.  The  edi- 
tor-in chief  —  after  saving  a  poor  old  fisherman  from 
a  watery  grave  —  dropped  a  match  in  a  pile  of  shav- 


110  HOW  THINGS  HAPPENED. 

ings ;  but,  as  it  was  cast  down  in  full  blaze,  and 
intended  to  burn,  it,  of  course,  went  out.  (An 
Irishman  will  probably  be  hired  at  an  early  date  to 
drop  a  charred  match  in  the  same  heap.) 

The  next  morning  the  Spratville  Skullcap  came 
out  bristling  with  head-lines  and  fairly  alive  with 
local  sensations.  In  the  first  column  was  a  thrilling 
account  of  the  old  fisherman's  watery  bath  : 
"  Saved  !  Saved  !  —  A  Boat  Founders  in  the  Bay  — 
Help!  Help!  —  An  Old  Man  Struggling  with  the 
Tide  —  Almost  Exhausted  —  An  Unknown  Rescuer 
—  Particulars  of  the  Affair." 

The  next  column  was  Mr.  Spilkin's  effort  : 
"  Ninety  Feet  at  a  Leap  !  —  A  Dog  Falls  from  the 
High  Bridge  —  A  Wild  Howl  "of  Anguish  —  The 
Dog  t  Dwindles  —  Over  and  Over  —  Strikes  the 
Water  with  a  Dull  Thud  —  His  Remains  Found  on 
the  Island."  (Mr.  Spilkins  omitted  to  state  that 
the  "  remains "  were  discovered  feasting  content- 
edly on  an  old  dead  horse.) 

"  Killed  on  the  Rail !  "  appeared  next :  "  Ten  Val- 
uable Cows  Hurled  into  Eternity  —  How  did  it  hap- 
pen ?  —  The  Locomotive  Spattered  with  Gore  '• —  One 
Cow  on  Top  of  the  Smokestack  —  $10,000  Damages 
Demanded." 

Fifteen    hundred    copies    of '  the   Skullcap   were 


SOW  THINGS  ttAttENED.  Ill 

printed,  and  they  were  all  gone  before  breakfast. 
Twenty-five  hundred  were  struck  off  before  noon, 
and  still  the  great  public  clamored  for  more.  The 
editor-in-chief  and  -Mr.  Spilkins  sat  in  the  sanctum, 
and  looked  down  upon  the  suffering  throng  below. 

"  I  think  we  have  struck  it,"  said  the  E.  I.  C. 
Mr.  Spilkins  nodded  his  head. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  burn  a  barn  this  after- 
noon, Spilkins  ?  " 

"  I  will  try." 

"  Very  well.  I  will  take  one  of  my  cousin's  chil- 
dren and  lose  him  in  the  woods.  To-morrow  we 
will  get  up  something  new." 


THE  DIALOGUE  OF  THE  CLOTHES. 


FULL  suit  of  masculine  clothes 
lay  tumbled  in  confusion  upon 
a  chair,  where  the  various  arti- 
cles had  been  thrown  by  their 
whilom  occupant,  who  was  now 
snoring  in  the  embrace  of  that 
mythical  personage  known  as 
Morpheus. 

A  pale  moonbeam  stole  in  at  the  window,  and  the 
heap  of  clothes^  upon  which  it  fell,  seemed  to  grow 
uneasy  under  the  mysterious  light. 

"  This  isn't  morning,  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  coat,  of  the 
pants. 

"  No,  thank  goodness  !  "  replied  the  pants,  with  a 
grateful  sigh.  "  Morning  is  a  long  way  off  yet.  We 
shall  have  time  for  a  good  refreshing  rest.  What 
a  busy  fellow  our  master  is,  to  be  sure,  when  he  is 
awake !  One  would  hardly  think  it  possible  that 
he  could  lie  as  still  as  he  is  lying  now." 

At  this  the  shoes,  which  .stood  under  the  chair, 
moved  painfully,  and  gave  utterance  to  an  audible 
groan. 

112 


THE  DIALOGUE   OF  THE  CLOTHES.  113 

"  You  look  worn,"  said  the  pants,  gently,  to  the 
shoes. 

"  Alas,  we  feel  so  !  "  answered  the  shoes.  "  We 
are  so  tired  that  we  can  hardly  keep  sole  and  body 
together." 

Hereupon  the  stockings  peered  out  at  the  tops  of 
the  shoes,  and  murmured :  "  Ah,  if  you  could 
only  see  our  heels,  you  wouldn't  say  anything 
more  about  being  worn !  By  and  by  we  shall  be 
pretty  much  all  hole,  and  then  we  shall  be  whole 
no  longer." 

At  this  doleful  pun  the  clothes  groaned  and 
hissed  in  unison,  and  the  necktie  became  so  ex- 
cited that  it  fell  from  the  back  of  the  chair  to 
the  floor. 

"Hark!"  cried  the  shoes.  "We  thought  we 
heard  something  drop." 

"  It  was  only  me,"  said  the  necktie,  meekly. 

"  You  should  say,  '  only  I,'  "  remarked  the  collar, 
with  its  usual  stiff  propriety. 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation,  the  vest,  which 
had  hitherto  kept  silence,  remarked  that,  if  any 
article  of  apparel  was  to  be  pitied,  it  was  itself; 
for  no  other  garment  had  to  carry  such  an  enor- 
mous and  ill-assorted  collection  of  personal  prop- 
erty. "  But,  fortunately,"  added  the  vest,  —  "  though 


114  THE  DIALOGUE   OF  THE  CLOTHES. 

you  must  admit  that  it  is  pretty  poor  consolation  — 
three  of  my  four  pockets  have  been  completely  torn 
out  by  screws,  nails,  knives,  scissors,  silver  coins,  and 
the  like,  and  I  now  have  to  support  only  our  friend, 
the  watch,  who,  as  everybody  knows,  has  always 
been  obliged  to  live  on  tick  and  beat  his  way." 

The  clothes  all  admitted  that  the  vest  had  a 
pretty  hard  time  of  it.  "But,"  added  the  pants, 
"if  your  pockets  were  emptied  into  mine,  and 
mine  into  yours,  I  think  you  would  have  even 
more  reason  to  complain  than  you  now  have." 

"  That's  so ! "  exclaimed  the  suspenders  (which 
were  so  frayed,  stretched,  and  patched  that  they 
hardly  had  energy  enough  left  to  speak  out  loud). 
"  The  pants  do  have  a  hard  time  of  it,  as  I  can  tes- 
tify ;  for  whatever  adds  to  their  burden  adds  also 
to  mine.  Sometimes  I  feel  as  though  I  must  give 
out  foe,  very  weariness  with  the  load  I  have  to 
carry.  For  consider,  my  friends,  that,  although 
the  pants  support  their  own  pockets,  I  support 
the  pants,  and  so  carry  the  whole  load." 

"  Yes,  and  think  of  me,  under  the  whole  of  you  !  " 
fairly  screamed  the  shirt,  its  bosom  heaving  with 
excitement,  —  "  under  coat,  vest,  pants,  suspenders, 
—  all  of  you.  Think,  if  you  please,  what  I  have  to 
bear ! " 


THE  DIALOGUE   OF   THE   CLOTHES.  115 

"Yes,  but  you  don't  have  to  carry  anything," 
replied  the  collar,  in  the  same  deliberate  and 
haughty  manner  as  befere. 

"  Don't,  eh  ?  "  cried  the  shirt,  rustling  with  indig- 
nation. "  I  carry  you,  anyway,  you  great,  stuck-up, 
lazy,  good-for-nothing  encumbrance  !  What  would 
you  do,  I  should  like  to  know,  if  you  didn't  have 
me  to  hang  to  ?  Ha,  ha !  how  quickly  you  would 
fly  up  about  our  master's  ears,  and  what  a  pretty 
looking  object  you  would  be,  wouldn't  you  !  Bah ! 
before  I'd  be  a  mere  figure-head,  a  useless  ornament, 
like  a  collar,  I'd " 

But  just  at  this  moment,  the  owner  of  the  clothes, 
waking  up  and  suddenly  recollecting  that  he  had 
forgotten  to  wind  his  watch  when  he  went  to 
bed,  made  a  bound  for  the  shadowy  heap  on  the 
chair,  and  seizing  the  pants  by  the  waistband, 
pulled  coat,  vest  and  shirt  with  them  into  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  where  the  shifting  moonlight 
now  shone  brightly.  There  he  subjected  to  a  most 
painful  and  protracted  search,  all  the  pockets  of  all 
the  garments,  until  at  last  he  discovered  his  watch 
key  and  wound  his  watch  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
Having  performed  this  important  duty,  he  flung 
himself  into  bed  again. 

"  Alas,  alas ! "    sighed  the   pants,  after    all  was 


116  FREAKS   OF  LIGHTNING. 

quiet  once   more.     "  What   a   dreadful   shock   that 
was !     I  don't  know  as  my  nerves  will  ever  quiet 

down  again.    I  am  all  out  of  breath.    Hear  me  p " 

But  'the  clothes  raised  their  voices  in  horror  at 
the  mere  suggestion  of  such  an  execrable  pun,  and 
the  pants  were  obliged  to  leave  the  sentence  unfin- 
ished. Just  then  the  clock  struck  one,  and  the  gar- 
ments all  agreed  that  it  was  time  to  subside  and 
snatch  what  sleep  they  could,  preparatory  to  the 
labors  of  another  day. 


FREAKS   OF  LIGHTNING. 

NEXT  to  the  newspaper  mule,  there  is  probably  no 
element  which  plays  so  many  destructive  freaks 
with  human  life  and  property  as  lightning.  Light- 
ning is  said  to  be  very  quick  —  much  more  rapid, 
indeed,  in  its  effects  than  banana  peel,  though  not 
quite  so  sure.  When  a  man  happens  to  be  in  the 
same  ten-acre  lot  with  a  flash  of  lightning,  he  is  not 
going  to  have  very  much  time  to  run  for  the  fence. 
Lightning  is  also  thorough  —  a  sort  of  double-bar- 
relled edition  of  investigating  committee.  Unlike 
the  average  newspaper  reporter,  it  seldom  has'  occa- 
sion to  interview  a  man  twice.  There  is  a  brand  of 
lightning,  peculiar  to  New  Jersey,  which  is  espe- 


FREAKS   OF  LIGHTNING.  117 

cially  searching  in  its  nature,  and  it  differs  from  all 
other  kinds  in  the  persistency  and  frequency  with 
which  it  strikes  more  than  once  in  the  same  place. 

The  writer  has  collected  a  large  number  of  choice 
specimens  of  newspaper  literature,  illustrating  the 
very  remarkable  freaks  of  particular  flashes  of  light- 
ning ;  and,  if  there  is  no  objection,  he  would  like  to 
open  his  budget  and  display  a  few  of  his  wares. 
Here  they  are,  — 

A  dog  in  Tuckerville,  Maine,  was  standing  under 
an  apple  tree  in  a  thunderstorm,  panting.  A  flash 
of  lightning  struck  the  tree,  and  a  perfect  picture  of 
Jt  was  transferred  to  the  dog's  tongue.  The  dog  was 
unharmed,  and  lived  for  many  years  with  the  photo- 
graph of  the  apple  tree  in  his  mouth.  As  it  was  a 
good  year  for  apples,  he  has  been  well  supplied  with 
fruit. 

A  thunderbolt  entered  the  house  of  Mr.  Jonas 
Bixby,  of  Fairhaven,  Connecticut,  drew  a  nail  from 
the  wall,  took  a  powder  flask  from  Mr.  Bixby's 
drawer,  loaded  a  gun  which  stood  in  the  corner, 
rammed  down  the  nail,  and  shot  Mr.  Bixby  through 
the  trousers,  just  as  he  was  escaping  at  the  shed 
door.  As  proof  of  this  story,  Mr.  Bixby  will  show 
any  one  who  wishes  to  call  the  gun. 


118  FREAKS   OF  LIGHTNING. 

A  baby  belonging  to  Mrs.  Hathaway,  of  Sutherland 
Centre,  Pennsylvania,  was  taken  from  its  mother's 
breast,  during  a  thunderstorm,  by  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, and  carried  upstairs  into  the  attic.  When 
found  again,  it  was  cooing  contentedly,  and  playing 
with  a  large  iron  nut  supposed  to  have  become 
loosened  from  the  thunderbolt. 

At  the  house  of  Edgar  Dane  of  Newport,  Rhode 
Island,  a  strange  freak  of  lightning  occurred  the 
other  day.  Mr.  Dane  had  hung  his  coat  against -the 
wall,  and  was  just  sitting  down  to  put  on  his  slip- 
pers, when  a  blinding  light  filled  the  room,  and  as 
soon  as  he  recovered  his  senses  he  saw  the  tail  of  his 
coat  sticking  out  of  a  stove-pipe  hole  in  the  wall. 
He  climbed  up  and  pulled  the  garment  out,  when  a 
note  fluttered  to  his  feet.  He  picked  it  up  and 
read  as  follows,  "Thanks,  will  call  again."  Mr. 
Dane  does  not  remember  whether  there  was  any 
such  note  in  his  pocket  at  the  time,  but  thinks  it 
was  a  freak  of  lightning, 

A  flash  of  lightning  struck  in  the  road,  in  front  of 
a  bay  horse,  at  Kirby,  Kentucky,  and  the  horse  sud- 
denly changed  in  color  from  bay  to  black.  His 
master  also  changed  color  a  little. 


WHAT  TO   DO  IN   AN  EMERGENCY.  119 

Jemima  Washington,  of  Thompson's  Flat,  New 
Hampshire,  was  cooking  pork  in  a  thunderstorm,  and 
had  just  started  to  take  it  from  the  spider,  with  the 
platter  and  fork  in  her  hands,  when  a  flash  of  light- 
ning came  down  the  chimney,  took  the  platter  out 
of  her  hands,  dumped  the  contents  of  the  spider  into 
it,  and  went  back  up  the  chimney.  Mrs.  Washing- 
ton was  somewhat  startled,  but  thinks  there  will  be 
a  shower  of  pork  somewhere  in  the  country  yet. 
She  don't  believe  that  the  folks  where  the  lightning 
came  from  will  eat  pork. 


WHAT  TO  DO  IN  AN  EMERGENCY. 

MANY  persons  are  simply  at  their  wits'  end  in 
case  of  a  sudden  emergency,  and  know  no  more 
what  to  do  than  so  many  children.  For  the  benefit 
of  such  as  are  in  this  deplorable  state  of  ignorance,  I 
have  written  out  a  few  simple  directions  for  the 
most  frequent  kinds  of  accidents,  which  cannot  fail 
to  be  easily  understood,  and  which,  I  trust,  will 
prove  of  very  great  value  if  followed  out  at  once  and 
according  to  letter. 

1.  Fora  Cut.  —  Carefully  wipe  the  knife-blade, 
especially  if  the  knife  is  new  and  bright,  as  other- 


120  WHAT   TO  DO   IN   AN   EMERGENCY. 

wise  it  will  be  likely  to  rust.  Close  the  knife  and 
put  it  in  your  pocket,  especially  if  it  belongs  to 
somebody  else.  Then  go  tearing  around  the  house 
yelling  for  a  rag.  The  louder  you  yell,  tfc.3  more 
rag  you  will  get.  Everybody  will  be  so  frightened 
that  they  will  offer  you  their  handkerchiefs.  Do 
not  stop  to  discriminate  —  take  them  all.  They  will 
never  be  wanted  back.  Tie  your  hand  up  till  it 
looks  like  an  Egyptian  mummy.  Do  not  forget  to 
howl  all  the  while.  After  you  have  thoroughly 
upset  the  whole  house  and  driven  everybody  almost 
crazy,  take  the  handkerchief  off  and  stick  a  piece  of 
court-planter  over  the  spot  where  you  thought  you 
cut  yourself.  Then  nobody  will  know  that  it  is 
only  a  scratch,  and  by  and  by  you  will  begin  to  feel 
better  yourself. 

2.  For  Fainting.  —  If  the  patient  is  a  female  — 
as  is  most  likely  to  be  the  case  —  catch  her  in  your 
arms  as  she  falls,  and  if  reasonably  good-looking, 
hold  her  there  for  several  moments.  Perhaps  she 
will  recover  without  further  treatment.  If  rather 
plain,  and  not  so  young  as  she  used  to  be,  you  may 
convey  her  at  once  to  the  sofa.  Place  her  upon  her 
back,  with  her  head  lower  than  her  feet,  if  possible ; 
if  not,  turn  her  feet  sideways  and  put  weights  on 
them.  Be  sure  and  give  the  patient  plenty  of  air. 


WHAT   TO   DO   IN   AN  EMERGENCY.  121 

If  a  pair  of  bellows  are  handy,  use  them  vigorously 
—  no  matter  if  it  blows  her  bangs  off.  If  no  bellows 
are  to  be  had,  talk  yourself.  Dash  cold  water  in  the 
patient's  face,  if  it  is  a  house  where  you  can  get 
water.  In  some  you  can't.  Do  not  administer  any 
stimulants.  The  patient  is  not  in  a  condition  to 
appreciate  them.  Give  camphor  or  hartshorn  to 
smell.  If  you  do  not  know  where  to  find  them,  ask 
the  patient.  Keep  up  a  cheerful  conversation,  being 
careful,  however,  to  avoid  the  subject  of  the  weather, 
which  is  always  depressing.  When  the  patient  has 
recovered  sufficiently 'to  call  you  a  "hateful  brute" 
and  a  "  mean,  immodest  wretch,"  her  restoration  to 
health  may  be  considered  imminent.  If  in  addition 
she  feels  to  see  if  her  bangs  and  back  hair  are  all 
right,  it  is  high  time  for  you  to  retire  and  call  the 
family.  The  rest  of  your  duty  is  plain  enough.  Go 
home  without  delay  and  keep  your  mouth  shut. 

3.  In  case  of  Poison.  —  We  will  suppose,  for  con- 
venience sake,  that  it  is  yourself  who  are  poisoned, 
although  we  would  not  advise  you  to  go  and  poison 
yourself  for  that  reason,  not  even  for  the  sake  of 
science  or  your  friends.  At  any  rate,  hypothetically 
speaking,  you  are  poisoned.  The  question  is,  how 
to  save  your  funeral  expenses.  The  first  thing  to 
do  is  to  take  an  emetic.  Now,  although  this  may 


122  WHAT   TO  DO   IK   AN   EMERGENCY. 

seem  the  simplest  thing  in  the  world  in  theory,  it  is 
nevertheless,  decidedly  difficult  in  practice,  for  it  is 
said  to  be  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  keep  an 
emetic  on  the  stomach.  Still,  it  is  a  last  resort,  and 
must  be  tried.  Suppose  you  treat  yourself  to  mus- 
tard and  tepid  water,  which  is  said  to  be  very  effectual 
in  exciting  the  emotions  of  the  diaphragm,  and  also 
possesses  the  desirable  merit  of  being  cheap.  ,  Ipecac 
and  water  is  also  good,  or,  in  fact,  anything  which 
you  do  not  particularly  crave.  But  whatever  you 
take,  take  it  in  a  hurry,  and  be  sure  that  you  take 
enough  of  it.  After  all,  it  isn't  so  much  the  emetic 
you  want  as  it  is  the  results.  These,  it  is  presumed, 
will  follow-in  good  time,  and  without  need  of  further 
directions.  When  the  stomach  has  been  turned 
inside  out  about  six  times,  drink  a  little  chalk  and 
water,  or,  if  you  can't  get  chalk  and  water,  use  milk- 
man's milk,  anything  weak  and  mild.  If  the  doctor 
should  come  in  about  this  time,  as  he  will  be  likely 
to,  and  inquire  after  your  welfare,  tell  him  that  you 
are  in  bounding  health  and  vigor,  thank  you,  and 
pay  him  his  fee.  In  a  few  minutes  you  will  be  your- 
self again,  and  in  a  physical  condition  not  to  have 
your  nerves  startled  by  the  ringing  of  the  dinner-bell. 
4.  Burns.  —  If  the  clothing  takes  fire,  the 
victim  will,  of  course,  at  once  start  and  run  at 


"WHAT   TO   DO   IN    AN   EMERGENCY.  123 

the  top  of  his  or  her  speed,  in  order  to  provide  a 
suitable  draught.  Start  at  once  in  pursuit,  yelling 
"fire!"  at  every  stride.  This  will  bring  out  the 
fire  department,  and  attract  a  large  crowd  of  specta- 
tors. Should  you  succeed  in  overtaking  the  burning 
person,  throw  him  at  once  to  the  ground  and  roll 
him  rapidly  over  and  over  for  about  half  a  block,  on 
the  same  principle  that  a  cook  turns  over  and  bastes  a 
fowl — to  cook  him  more  equally  on  every  side. 
This  having  been  done,  take  off  your  overcoat  —  you 
should  always  wear  an  overcoat  on  such  occasions  — 
and  wrap  the  victim  tightly  in  it.  He  will  naturally 
be  cold  and  in  need  of  some  such  protection.  Keep 
the  flames  from  the  face  and  head  as  much  as  possi- 
ble ;  induce  them  to  burn  further  down.  As  soon 
as  the  fire  department  comes  up,  have  them  direct 
three  or  four  streams  into  the  nearest  dry-goods 
store.  They  will  not  be  satisfied  without  inundating 
something.  While  the  crowd  are  busying  themselves, 
carrying  out  the  more  valuable  portions  of  the  pro- 
prietor's stock,  call  a  cab,  and  get  the  burned  person 
away  to  the  nearest  hospital.  Here  your  responsi- 
bility ceases,  and  if  the  doctors  kill  him  it  won't  be 
your  fault. 

5.     Drowning.  —  The  body  should  be  recovered  as 
quickly  as  possible.     If  the  drowning  should  occur 


124  WHAT   TO   DO  IN   AN   EMERGENCY. 

at  noon,  it  will  hardly  be  safe  to  leave  the  subject  in 
the  water  until  after  you  have  been  to  dinner.  Save 
him  at  once.  Then  having  laid  the  victim  out  upon 
the  sand,  proceed  to  strip  him  of  every  vestige  of 
clothing.  Never  mind  if  he  kicks  like  a  mule.  Take 
a  coarse  crash  towel  —  you  can  get  them  at  almost 
any  grocery-store  with  every  bar  of  "  Peck's  Sand- 
stone Soap"  —  and  give  him  a  genuine  Irishman's 
bath.  ,  Scour  him  until  the  pores  of  the  skin  are 
thoroughly  open.  Nothing  conduces  to  good  health 
like  an  active  skin.  Now  turn  the  person  over  upon 
his  face  with  the  neck  and  shoulders  a  little  raised, 
and  press  firmly  on  the  back.  This  will  cause  the 
victim  to  spit  out  any  water  which  may  have  been 
taken  into  the  mouth,  and  exchange  it  for  sand. 
Friction,  meanwhile,  should  be  applied  to  the  ex- 
tremities. Secure  the  services  of  any  passer-by,  and 
have  him  rub  the  "bottoms  of  the  feet  with  a  piece  of 
sandpaper.  Alternate  the  pressure  on  the  back  with 
equally  firm  pressure  on  the  side,  under  the  arm.  If 
the  person  refuses  to  breathe  under  these  circum- 
stances, he  is  certainly  dead;  but  it  will  be  a  very 
defunct  person  who  will  refuse.  The  patient  may 
be  allowed  to  dress  himself  in  about  twenty  minutes  ; 
and  if  the  prescribed  treatment  has  been  faithfully 
carried  out,  he  will  be  very  cautious  about  drowning 
himself  a  second  time. 


ELIPHALET'S  WOOING. 


IHERE  was  no  mis- 
taking it  —  Elipha- 
let  Babbitt  was  in 
love.  He  had  all 
the  general  symp- 
toms of  that  species* 
of  heart  disease, 
and  some  that  were 
peculiar  to  himself. 
He  lost  his  appetite, 
and  that  was  no  small  loss  to  Eliphalet,  though  it  was 
a  great  gain  to  the  family.  He  grew  moody  and 
absent-minded,  and  was  falling  into  a  habit  of  steal- 
ing away  to  the  woods  at  noon  and  evening,  and  lying 
on  his  back  under  the  trees.  These,  of  course,  were 
only  general  symptoms,  but  Eliphalet  developed 
others  characteristic  of  himself.  For  instance,  when 
he  went  to  work  in  the  west  meadow  he  invariably 
put  on  his  Sunday  clothes,  even  to  the  black  gloves 
and  stiff  bell-crowned  hat.  Thus  equipped,  he  would 
seize  his  scythe  or  his  rake  and  work  steadily  toward 

125 


126 

the  little  white  cottage  with  the  brown  barns  and 
patent  fire-gilt  lightning-rods,  where  the  Perrivales 
— -father  and  daughter  —  lived.  It  was  a  rare  sight 
to  see  that  gaunt,  clerical  figure  in  black,  stalking 
by  industrial  degrees  across  the  meadow,  and  every 
now  and  then  raising  a  pair  of  shy,  half-frightened 
^yes  in  the  direction  of  the  leaf-embowered  cottage, 
as  though  he  suspected  that  he  was  being  watched, 
•and  would  like  desperately  well  to  be  visibly  assured 
of  the  fact.  The  extraordinary  attraction  of  the 
Perrivale  homestead  to  Eliphalet  Babbitt,  it  might 
not  take  an  oracle  to  divine,  was  none  other  than  the 
fair  mistress  of  the  place  —  Miss  Clorinda  Perrivale. 
In  fact,  it  was  whispered  abroad,  in  rural  vernacu- 
lar, that  Eliphalet  Babbitt  was  "  smit  "  with  "  Clo- 
rindy"  Perrivale.  What  wonder  if  it  were  so? 
Olorinda  Perrivale  was  as  trim  and  pretty  a  lass  as 
one  sees  in  a  year's  wanderings.  She  was  as  plump 
and  well-turned  as  a  ball  of  her  own  golden  butter, 
and  had  a  face  and  a  pair  of  eyes  that  raised  the 
mischief  with  every  young  fellow  she  looked  at. 
And  then  she  had  a  way  —  the  pretty  minx  —  of 
letting  her  long  lashes  droop  upon  her  cheeks,  when 
the  shy  youth  caught  her  glance,  and  actually  blush- 
ing in  sympathy  with  his  confusion.  Clorinda  was 
•an  incorrigible  flirt.  Unfortunately,  she  had  lost  her 


ELIPHALET'S  WOOING.  127 

mother  when  a  mere  child,  and,  without  the  restrain- 
ing influence  of  womanhood  upon  her  girlish  play- 
fulness and  love  of  admiration,  had  involved  herself 
in  a  life  of  ^excitement  and  pleasure,  which  had 
gradually  become  the  very  breath  of  existence  to 
her. 

Eliphalet  Babbitt  was  among  the  latest  of  her 
admirers.  He  had  been  at  school  for  six  years, 
vainly  attempting  to  polish  his  rough  but  honest  wit 
on  the  classical  grindstone ;  and  now,  but  little 
changed  —  the  same  awkward,  good-natured,  bashful, 
blundering  but  capable  fellow  —  he  had  returned 
home,  to  displace  the  Greek  verbs  in  his  hair  with 
hayseed,  and  get  rid  of  the  crude  mass  of  philo- 
sophies and  sciences  which  he  had  gorged,  by  a  judi- 
cious regimen  of  plain  home  duties,  and  complete 
subsidence  into  the  local  vernacular.  He  had  met 
Clorinda  Perrivale  frequently  since  his  return,  at 
church,  at  picnics,  and  at  home,  and  had  fallen  irre- 
trievably in  love  with  the  village  belle. 

Fourth-of-July  night  there  was  to  be  a  great  and 
glorious  celebration,  with  speeches  and  cannon  and 
fireworks,  in  the  little  city  of  Marbray,  six  miles 
down  the  river.  Every  man  and  boy  in  Newville 
had  shaped  his  affairs  during  the  previous  six  weeks 
to  the  one  special  end  of  attending  the  grand 


128  ELIPHALET'S  WOOING. 

demonstration  on  that  night.  Now  Clorinda  Perri- 
vale,  merry  and  mischievous  always,  conceived  the 
idea  of  testing  her  devoted  swains  upon  that  mem- 
orable occasion,  and  choosing  him  whose  love  for 
her  should  prove  paramount  to  his  love  for  Chinese 
fireworks  and  scintillating  eloquence.  So  she  man- 
aged to  convey  to  each  of  her  suitors  singly  the 
information  that  she  would  be  at  home  on  Fourth- 
of-July  night,  and  should  very  much  like  the 
pleasure  of  his  company  at  that  time.  Something, 
too,  in  the  manner  of  the  invitation  seemed  to  hint 
that  it  was  of  especial  interest  to  the  recipient. 
Among  the  rest,  Eliphalet  Babbitt  received  the 
message  of  the  fair  Clorinda,  and  instantly  all 
visions  of  pyrotechnic  display  and  soul-stirring 
oratory  vanished  from  his  mind,  and  his  heart  went 
pit-a-pat  with  love's  alternate  hope  and  fear.  Now 
Eliphalet  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  and  by  dint  of  con- 
siderable prying  about,  and  keeping  his  eyes  and  ears 
open,  he  found  out  that  he  was  not  the  only  one 
invited  to  meet  the  bewitching  Clorinda  upon  the 
evening  of  the  celebration.  Some  half-score  rivals 
evaded  his  questions  about  going  to  Marbray  in  such 
a  manner  that  he  was  sure  they  were  intending  to 
keep  some  very  important  engagement.  Eliphalet 
went  home  and  pondered  upon  the  matter.  He 


ELIPHALET'S  WOOING.  129 

reflected  that,  if  Clorinda  were  intending  to  make 
her  choice  from  a  superficial  examination  of  some 
ten  or  twelve  young  men  dressed  in  their  Sunday 
clothes  and  gotten  up  to  "  kill,"  he  would  stand  a 
pretty  poor  chance.  If  there  were  only  some  way 
of  getting  rid  of  his  rivals  !  If  he  could  think  of 
some  plan  to  keep  them  away  on  the  eventful  night, 
and  make  it  appear  to  Clorinda  that  they  cared  less 
about  her  than  they  did  about  a  night's  fun  in  Mar- 
bray,  why,  his  suit  would  be  as  good  as  won,  for  a 
girl  of  her  .spirit  wouldn't  stand  snubbing  by  the 
handsomest  and  most  agreeable  young  man  that  ever 
walked.  Eliphalet  put  on  his  thinking-cap,  and 
drew  it  tighter  than  he  ever  did  before.  He  con- 
cocted all  sorts  of  schemes,  but  rejected  them  one 
after  another  as  impracticable.  All  of  a  sudden  he 
started  up  as  if  he  had  been  sitting  on  a  box  of 
dynamite.  "  By  the  great  horn  spoon ! "  he  ex- 
claimed, striking  his  leg  with  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
"  I've  got  it  now ! "  He  nodded  so  emphatically 
that  his  hair  tumbled  down  over  his  forehead,  and 
gave  him  the  appearance  of  a  very  much  exaggerated 
sky  terrier,  "  I've  got  it,  sir !  I've  got  it ! "  he  re- 
peated, in  louder  tones.  He  then  danced  all  around 
the  room  on  one  foot,  and  ended  up  by  taking  a 
running  jump  on  to  the  bed  and  bringing  down  the 


130  ELIPHALET'S  WOOING. 

whole  structure  in  one  confused  mass  of  slats,  pil- 
lows, blankets,  and  bed-posts. 

Anyone  loitering  around  the  Babbitt  farmhouse 
at  about  eight  o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  Fourth 
of  July,  18 — ,  might  have  seen  a  tall,  gaunt  figure, 
neatly  arrayed  in  black,  emerging  from  the  shed 
door  with  a  tin  pail  in  one  hand  and  a  short-handled 
brush  in  the  other.  That  figure  belonged  to  Elipha- 
let  Babbitt,  and  that  pail  to  his  mother,  and  in  that 
pail  was  lard.  Now  it  happened  that  the  regular 
path  of  Clorinda  Perrivale's  suitors  lay  across  the 
east  meadow  aforesaid,  over  the  fence  and  across  a 
good-sized  and  very  deep  brook,  by  means  of  a  single 
log.  They  took  this  path  because  it  brought  them 
to  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  relieved  them  of  the 
disagreeable  necessity  of  saying  good-evening  to  Mr. 
Perrivale,  who  usually  sat  on  the  front .  porch  at  the 
evening  hour,  smoking  his  pipe. 

Eliphalet  Babbitt  was  aware  of  the  custom  of  his 
rivals,  because  it  was  one  that  he  himself  habitually 
practised,  and  to-night  a  grim  smile  sat  upon  his 
lips,  as  he  pursued  his  way  across  the  fields  in  the 
soft  summer  twilight,  lard  pail  in  hand,  and  with  his 
love-speech  already  made  out  in  his  heart.  The 
shadows  of  early  night  were  just  closing  round,  as 
he  climbed  the  fence  and  approached  the  log  bridge 


ELIPHALET'S  WOOING.  131 

over  the  brook.  Looking  carefully  about  him  to  see 
that  no  one  was  witness  to  his  deed,  he  flung  himself 
astride  of  the  log,  with  his  back  to  the  Perrivale 
cottage,  opened  his  pail,  dipped  the  brush  in  the 
lard,  and  proceeded  to  apply  a  liberal  coating  of  it 
to  the  already  smooth-worn  log,  as  lie  hitched  along 
backward  toward  the  opposite  bank.  When  his 
task  was  completed,  he  hid  pail  and  brush  under  the 
bank  and  hastened  up  the  path  to  the  cottage. 
Clorinda  was  sitting  in  her  little  workroom  at  the 
vine-covered  window  as  he  drew  "near,  and  she 
merrily  bade  him  come  in  without  knocking.  Oh, 
how  beautiful  she  looked,  rocking  back  and  forth  in 
the  dusk  light,  against  the  background  of  the  vine, 
her  pure  white  dress  of  muslin  but  half  concealing 
her  round  white  arms  and  marble  shoulders !  Eliph- 
alet  shyly  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  a  chair,  and 
turned  his  bell-crowned  hat  round  and  round  in  his 
nervous  hands.  They  talked  —  or  rather,  she  talked 
—  pleasantly  and  quietly  for  a  little  while,  listening 
in  the  pauses  to  the  monotonous  chirp,  chirp  of  the 
cricket  and  the  croaking  of  the  frogs  on  the  banks 
of  the  brook.  Deeper  and  deeper  grew  the  shadows, 
till  the  figure  in  white  seemed  like  a  substanceless 
thing  seen  dimly  in  a  vision,  and  the  figure  in  black 
had  almost  melted  away  into  the  darkness  of  the 


132  EMPHALET'S-  WOOING. 

room.  The  girl  had  ceased  to  talk  much.  Her  face 
was  turned  away  from  Eliphalet,  and  she  seemed  to 
be  looking  out  anxiously,  as  she  rocked,  through  the 
narrow  spaces  of  the  vine.  At  length  a  dead  silence 
prevailed.  Eliphalet's  tongue  was  so.  dry  that  he 
could  not  speak,  and  his  wits  were  drier  still  of 
words  to  speak  to  the  beautiful  girl,  with  her 
thoughts  apparently  so  far  away  from  him.  Sud- 
denly there  was  a  heavy  splash  from  the  brook 
below.  "  Oh  my ! "  cried  Clorinda,  starting,  as  if 
suddenly  awakened  from  a  dream.  "  That  rock  has 
fallen  out  of  the  bank  —  I  knew  it  would." 

"What  rock,  Clorindy?"  asked  Eliphalet,  hitch- 
ing his  chair  a  little  closer  to  the  girl.  "  Do  you 
mean  the  big  rock  by  the  bridge  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Clorinda.     "Did  you  notice  it?" 

"I  guess  I  did,"  exclaimed  Eliphalet,  glad  to  get 
upon  a  subject  of  conversation  in  that  trying  mo- 
ment. "  I  '  lowed  that  rock  was  going  to  fall  one  of 
these  days.  I  told  father  so.  Did  it  frighten  you, 
Clorindy?"  (Here  he  started  to  hitch  a  little 
nearer,  but  his  chair  creaked,  and  he  forebore). 

"Yes,  it  did,"  admitted  the  girl.  "I  must  have 
been  thinking  —  " 

Splash ! 

"Gosh,  what  a  mushrat!"   exclaimed  Eliphalet, 


ELIPHALET'S  WOOING.  133 

the  cold  sweat  starting  out  all  over  him.  "  Wish 
I'd  a  been  there  with  a  gun ! " 

"  Was  it  a  muskrat  ?  v  asked  Clorinda,  curiously. 
"  It  didn't  sound  like  a  stone." 

"Yes,  it  was,"  asseverated  Eliphalet,  roundly. 
"I  know  a  mushrat  splash,  every  time.  Did  you 
ever  see  a  mushrat,  Clorindy?"  (Creak,  creak, 
from  the  chair). 

"No,  I  never  did,"  exclaimed  Clorinda;  "but  I 
have  seen  their  holes." 

"  So've  I,  so've  I ! "  exclaimed  Eliphalet,  im- 
mensely pleased  at  the  coincidence.  "When  the 
brook  gets  down  real  low  and  hayin's  over,  so  there 
won't  be  anybody  round  to  bother  us,  I'll  show  you 
more'n  fifteen  or  sixteen  of  'em,  all  in  a  —  " 

Splash !  v 

"  That  was  a  fish  I "    cried  Clorinda,  positively. 

"So  'twas!  so  'twas!"  assented  Eliphalet,  and 
his  chair  made  a  long,  scraping  noise  on  the  floor. 
"Say,  Clorindy,  do  you  like  to  fish?" 

"  Yes,  I  do  —  ever  so  much." 

"So  do  I!  —  ahem.  So  do  —  I."  Eliphalet  was 
sucking  the  rim  of  his  bell-crowned  hat,  and  bend- 
ing forward,  and  looking  up  sidewise  through  the 
darkness  at  the  figure  in  white.  "  Clorindy  —  will 
you  go  fishing  with  me,  some  time  ?  " 


134  ELIPHALET'S  WOOING. 

"Perhaps  so,  Elipli  —  Mr.  Babbitt." 

"  He,  he,  he !  "  from  Eliphalet.  Scrape,  creak, 
creak !  from  the  chair. 

"Say,  Clorindy  —  I'm  glad  I  didn't  go  to  the 
fireworks  to-night." 

"Why,  Eliph-- alet?" 

"Becuz  —  becuz,  all  the  other  boys  went,  you 
know,  and  —  hee,  hee,  hee ! " 

Splash !    splash ! 

"Bull-frogs!"  exclaimed  Eliphalet.  ("Two  of 
'em  together,  by.  the  great  horn  spoon  ! "  ) 

"  How  do  you  know  they  were  bull-frogs,  Elipha- 
let?" 

"  I  heard  'em  croak,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"I   thought   I   heard    some    noise  —  more   like  a 


man's  voice." 


"  Oh,  no  !  that  was  me.  I  was  just  going  to  say 
something." 

"  What  was  it,  Eliphalet  ?  " 

"  I  —  I  like  you  putty  well.  Clorindy  "  —  scrape, 
scrape,  from  the  chair.  Eliphalet  was  very  close 
now.  He  put  out  his  arm  ;  it  slipped  around  Clo- 
rinda's  waist,  and  the  chair  stopped  rocking.  "  Clo- 
rindy —  I  —  " 

Something  precluded  the  use  of  further  words, 
and  when  Eliphalet  went  home  that  night  he  was 


A   SEAT   IN   A   BARREL.  135 

so  elated  that  he  forgot  all  about  the  larded  bridge, 
and   Clorinda,  in   her   little  room  over  the  porch, 
thought  she  faintly  heard  — 
Splash !  

A  SEAT  IN  A  BARREL. 

DIOGENES  was  wholly  domiciled  in  a  tub ;  why 
should  not  the  wise  man  of  modern  times  be  content 
with  a  seat  in  a  barrel  ? 

Such  was  my  reflection  as  I  ensconced  myself  com- 
fortably in  a  softly  cushioned  divan,  whose  frame- 
work, twenty-four  hours  previous  had  been  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  very  floury  flour  barrel.  The 
gentle  wife  of  my  bosom  had  conceived  the  idea  (or 
did  she  abstract  it  from  one  of  her  many  excellent 
household  journals  ?);  I  was  appointed  engineer  of  the 
project ;  the  flour  barrel  was  produced  from  the  cellar, 
and  the  sound  of  saw  and  hammer  and  the  swish  of 
thread  had  not  ceased  until  the  finished  creation  stood 
before  us  in  all  the  perfection  of  its  actualized  ideality 
(save  the  mark  !  —  the  phrase  is  not  mine ;  it  was  sug- 
gested by  the  cook). 

The  modus  operandi  is  not  even  now  perfectly  clear 
in  my  own  mind.  I  think  we  began  to  saw  about 
the  middle  of  the  barrel  and  sawed  half  way  through; 
Then  we  removed  the  hoop  from  the  upper  half  of 


136  A  SEAT  IN   A  BARREL. 

the  barrel  (the  half  without  any  head),  and  forcibly 
took  away  the  severed  staves  thereof,  leaving  the 
lower  half  of  the  barrel  intact.  If  I  understand  my- 
self, we  now  had  a  semicircular  section  of  flour 
barrel  above,  and  a  circular  section  below.  I  know 
it  looked  like  a  very  simple  operation  at  the  time, 
but,  not  being  accustomed  to  mechanical  processes 
of  the  sort,  the  details  have  not  impressed  them- 
selves upon  my  memory  as  definitely  as  I  wish  they 
had.  At  all  events,  I  trust  the  reader  has  in  mind  a 
tolerably  exact  picture  of  the  result. 

The  next  step  was  to  stuff  the  cylindrical  portion 
of  the  divan  very  generously  with  that  sort  of  uphol- 
sterer's vermicelli  known  as  "  excelsior."  The  stuff- 
ing was  not  only  packed  down  with  all  the  artfulness 
and  energy  supposed  to  characterize  feminine  trunk 
packing,  but  was  allowed  to  overflow,  if  I  may  be 
permitted  the  degenerate  simile,  as  foam  overflows  a 
tankard  of  beer  on  a  brewer's  sign.  The  semi-cylin- 
drical portion  of  the  barrel  was  then  treated  in  the 
same  way,  except  that  in  this  instance  the  excelsior 
had  to  be  confined  in  place  by  pieces  of  small  string. 
As  the  reader-  must  perceive,  we  now  had  a  divan  in 
embryo,  nicely  cushioned  in  both  seat  and  back.  All 
that  remained  to  do  was  to  complete  the  upholster- 
ing by  adding  a  cover  of  the  brightly  flowered  print 


A  SEAT   IN   A   BARREL.  137 

which  my  thrifty  helpmate  had  provided.  At  this 
point  of  the  proceedings  I  was,  of  course,  honorably 
retired ;  and  as  I  thereupon  left  the  room,  and  did 
not  see  our  new  piece  of  furniture  again  until  it  was 
completed,  I  can  hardly  speak  with  understanding  of 
those  delicate  and  mysterious  feminine  touches  which 
are  to  home-made  furniture  what  the  elegancies  of 
the  higher  education  are  to  a  man.  Suffice  it  to  say 
that  I  should  not  have  recognized  my  own  handi- 
work thus  embellished  had  I  not  been  assured  it  was 
the  very  same.  Everything  about  that  whilom  flour 
barrel  was  so  idealized !  The  woody  suggestion,  the 
remembrance  of  a  persistent  and  prosaic  coating 
within,  the  aspect  as  of  an  inquisitorial  chair  of 
torture  —  none  of  these  things  remained.  Instead, 
I  saw  inviting  me,  literally,  a  lap  of  luxury.  Every 
line  of  stiffness  had  disappeared  :  the  line  of  beauty, 
the  flowing  curve  was  predominant. 

I  sat  down  in  the  barrel  with  a  profound  and 
grateful  sigh.  It  clasped  me  in  its  padded  embrace. 
Wherever  my  person  touched  its  environment,  it 
touched  the  softness  of  a  couch. 

"  How  do  you  like  it  ?  "  asked  the  Designer,  with 
a  beaming  smile. 

"  Like  it,  my  dear  !  "  I  replied.  "  Have  you  no 
stronger  term  to  supply,  in  the  evident  speechless- 
ness  of  my  admiration  ?  " 


138  A  SEAT   IN   A   BARREL. 

Here,  I  am  happy  to  say,  I  touched  just  the  right 
chord,  and  was  rewarded  by  the  Designer's  seating 
herself  in  the  barrel  with  me,  and  sifting  several 
shreds  of  excelsior  down  the  back  of  my  neck,  in  the 
usual  feminine  way. 

"  Isn't  it  perfectly  lovely !  " 

"  That  comes  nearer  the  mark,"  I  replied.  "  Any 
other  superlatives  which  you  may  have  in  reserve 
will  be  thankfully  received." 

All  this  transpired  six  months  ago.  Lest  the 
admiring  reader  should  go  and  do  likewise,  I  will 
state  that  the  transformed  flour  barrel  is  now  up 
garret.  Indeed,  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  account 
for  its  popularity  at  the  first.  Wife  is  very  good,  and 
thinks  it  was  because  I  sawed  it  out.  I  am  as  firmly 
convinced  that  it  was  because  she  sewed  it  in.  At 
all  events,  after  the  first  two  days  it  became  intoler- 
able to  the  spinal  processes  of  both  of  us.  It  creaked 
most  horribly.  It  gave  one  a  constant  sensation  like 
that  of  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  buggy  seat  between 
two  other  persons.  It  sagged  forward.  It  pinned 
one  laterally.  It  began  to  emit  excelsior  and  flour. 
It  played  me  a  most  contemptible  trick,  when,  in  a  fit 
of  abstraction,  I  attempted  to  lean  backwards  against 
the  wall  in  it.  On  the  whole,  it  turned  out  to  be  a 
monumental  failure.  So  it  went  up  garret. 


BIG  SLIPPERS    AND   LITTLE 
SLIPPERS. 

OU  could  almost  hide  Little  Slippers  in 
the  toes  of  Big  Slippers,  because  Little 
Slippers  are  very,  very  small  for  the  size 
of  foot  they  pinch,  and  Big  Slippers  are 
ridiculously,  luxuriously  large  for  the 
man  who  wears  them. 

Big  Slippers- are  mine,  and  Little  Slippers  are 
her's ;  and  we  are  each  other's  — :  that  is  to  say,  we 
are  married. 

The  other  evening  I  came  home  from  a  hard  day's 
work,  and  found  Big  Slippers  and  Little  Slippers, 
standing  side  by  side  in  front  of  an  open  fire  in  the 
grate ;  for  it  was  a  cold  evening,  and  the  wind  was 
brisk.  The  owner  of  Little  Slippers  was  out ;  but 
with  her  customary  thoughtfulness,  she  had  prepared 
all  the  accessories  of  a  cheerful  welcome  for  me. 
The  fire  was  burning  its  brightest ;  my  evening 
paper  lay  on  the  table,  under  the  softly-glowing 
student  lamp,  and  a  cigar  —  yes,  a  cigar,  for  my 
little  wife  loves  to  watch  the  curling  smoke  as  well 

139  >:;<r 


140          BIG   SLIPPERS   AND   LITTLE   SLIPPEES. 

as  I  do  —  tempted  me,  standing  upright  in  a  dainty 
glass  vase. 

However,  I  touched  neither  cigar  nor  paper ;  but 
sat  down  in  my  easy  chair  before  the  fire,  and,  fixing 
my  eyes  on  Big  Slippers  and  Little  Slippers,  began 
to  muse,  and,  finally,  to  talk  out  loud. 

"  Let  me  see,  Big  Slippers,"  said  I ;  "  how  old  are 
you?  that  is,  how  long  have  you  kept  company 
with  Little  Slippers?" 

Big  Slippers  moved  uneasily  on  the  rug,  and  pres- 
ently, with  a  very  shame-faced  expression,  replied  : 
" 1  don't  remember." 

"Oh,  don't  remember,  eh?  Well,  that's  a  pretty 
admission  for  a  fellow  of  your  apparent  affection  and 
devotion  to  make.  How  long  has  it  been,  Little 
Slippers  ?  " 

The  red  rosettes  on  Little  Slippers  blushed  all 
over.  The  blush  made  them  all  the  rosier  in  the 
firelight,  as  she  answered,  sweetly,  — 

"  It  is  just  four  years  to-day  since  Big  Slippers 
•  and  Little  Slippers  were  married." 

"  The  deuce  it  is  !  "  I  exclaimed,  jumping  up,  and 
hitting  the  table  a  savage  rap.  Then  I  sat  down 
again,  and  said,  softly :  "  I  had  forgotten  it,  Little 
Slippers  —  yes,  I  had  forgotten  it,  selfish  fellow  that 
I  am."  Just  then  I  looked  at  Big  Slippers,  and  he 
was  laughing. 


BIG   SLIPPERS   AND   LITTLE   SLIPPERSv          141 

"  You  rascal,  what  do  you  mean  by  laughing  ?  "  I 
shouted,  in  a  terrible  rage  :  "  This  is  a  fine  time  for 
you  to  laugh  ! " 

"  I  was  just  thinking,"  said  Big  Slippers,,  respect- 
fully, "concerning  what  you  have  just  said,  that  it 
was  a  '  pretty  admission  for  a  fellow  of  your  appar- 
ent affection  and  devotion  to  make.' ." 

"  Big  Slippers  !  "  I  cried,  with  considerable  emo- 
tion, "you  are  a  person  of  a  great  deal  of  discretion, 
and  some  brains.  Suppose  we  never  mention  this, 
matter  outside  of  Little  Slippers's  hearing •?  " 

"Agreed!"  said  Big  Slippers. 

I  leaned  back  in  my  easy-chair  with  a  sigh  of 
relief,  and  was  much  gratified  to  see  that,  in  spite  of 
the  ragged  old  fellow's  brief  and  treacherous  mem- 
ory, Little  Slippers  snuggled  all  the  closer  to  Big- 
Slippers  on  the  rug. 

"Well,"  said  I,  complacently,  after  lighting  the^ 
cigar  that  stood  in  the  vase,  and  puffing  a  few  rings 
of  smoke  toward  the*  ceiling,  "you  two  people  seem 
to  be  pretty  well  satisfied  with  each  other,  although 
you  have  been  married  four  years." 

Little  Slippers  blushed  again,  perceiving  that  my 
remark  was  (naturally  enough)  addressed  to  her. 
Looking  very  modestly  down  at  her  toes,  she  replied, 
in  tones  that  made;  the;  blood,  pour  in  floods  of  wine- 


142          BIG   SLIPPERS   AND   LITTLE  SLIPPERS. 

and  music  through  all  my  veins,  "  I  think  Big  Slip- 
pers is  the  dearest,  sweetest,  kindest,  handsomest 
husband  there  is  in  the  whole  world !  " 

I  choked  a  little,  and  my  eyes  were  a  trifle  damp, 
as  I  turned  to  Big  Slippers,  and  cried,  "  Now,  sir, 
what  have  you  to  say  to  that?  " 

"It  is  very  pretty  and  very  nice,"  said  Big  Slip- 
pers, complacently. 

"Sirrah!"  I  exclaimed,  starting  forward,  as 
though  to  trample  him  in  my  wrath,  "is  that  all 
you  have  to  offer  in  return  for  sweet  Little  Slippers's 
love,  you  ingrate,  you  selfish,  egotistical,  unsympa- 
thetic, puffed-up,  meagre-souled  brute?  " 

"  Oh,  don't !  "  cried  Little  Slippers,  beginning  to 
cry.  "  Big  Slippers  is  just  as  noble  and  good  and 
warm-hearted  and  unselfish  and  sympathetic  as  he 
can  be,  and  he  loves  me  dearly  ;  only,  perhaps,  he 
doesn't  like  to  show  it  before  others." 

"  Well,  if  he  doesn't  like  to  show  it  before  oth- 
ers," I  replied,  still  with  some  warmth,  "he  doesn't 
deserve  to  enjoy  such  an  experience.  Now,  if  he 
was  my  husband,  I'd  —  I'd  —  " 

But  just  at  this  point  I  suddenly  became  aware 
that  my  cigar  was  going  out,  and  it ^  became  neces- 
sary for  me  to  stop  and  puff  vigorously  for  quite  a 
while.  Once  or  twice  I  thought  I  caught  Big 


BIG   SLIPPERS  AND  LITTLE  SLIPPERS.          143 

Slippers  looking  at  me  with  a  significant  and  some- 
what annoying  expression ;  but  I  said  nothing,  for  I 
had  no  breath  to  spare.  When  my  cigar  was  burn- 
ing again,  I  threw  myself  back  in  my  chair,  and 
puffed  thoughtfully  for  some  minutes  without  looking 
at  Big  Slippers  and  Little  Slippers.  At  length  I 
resumed  the  talk,  asking,  with  some  vexation,  "Big 
Slippers,  why  is  it  that  you  look  so  much  more 
shabby  than  Little  Slippers  —  out  at  the  toes,  and 
rusty  along  the  sides,  and  ragged  at  the  edges,  and 
all  that?  You  have  been  married  no  longer  than 
she  has." 

Big  Slippers  sulked  at  this,  and  would  not  answer ; 
but  Little  Slippers  exclaimed,  quite  hotly  for  her: 
44 1  do  think  you  are  too  bad  !  Big  Slippers  doesn't 
look  that  way.  He  is  as  spruce  as  any  gentleman, 
and  twice  as  handsome  as  most  of  them.  As  for 
being  worn  more  than  I  am,  he  might  be  (for  he 
does  such  a  lot  of  work !),  but  he  isn't.  If  you  will 
be  so  good  as  to  examine  me  very  closely,  you  will 
see  that  I  am  as  thin  as  a  wafer  in  a  good  many 
places,  and  my  heels  are  beginning  to  turn  side- 
ways." 

"  You  dear  Little  Slippers  !  "  I  cried :  "  you  aren't 
getting  worn  a  bit  —  nonsense !  You  are  as  fresh, 
and  handsome,  and  straight,  and  strong  as  the  day 


144          BIG   SLIPPERS   AND   LITTLE    SLIPPERS. 

you  left  the  shop  to  get  married;  and  you  can  pinch 
just  as  tightly  as  ever  you  did.  But  as  for  Big  Slip- 
pers, look  how  he  has  spread  out  —  what  a  great, 
ungainly,  sprawling  fellow  he  is  !  He  doesn't  de- 
serve to  stand  on  the  same  rug  with  a  neat,  trim 
little  beauty,  like  his  wife.  I  declare,  I  have 
half  —  " 

"  Now,  now,  now ! "  came  a  merry  voice  from 
behind  my  chair,  while  a  soft  hand  was  laid  upon 
my  lips,  and  peals  of  happy  laughter  filled  all  the 
house :  "  What  is  this  nonsense  that  my  ridiculous, 
foolish,  delightfully  inconsistent,  dear,  funny,  old, 
worn-out  husband  has  been  talking  to  himself  all 
this  time  ?  How  long  do  you  suppose  I  have  been 
standing  behind  your  chair,  holding  my  poor  sides 
with  all  my  might  and  main  ?  Oh,  dear,  dear  — 
dear!  Oh!  — my!" 

I  did  not  jump  up.  I  did  not  even  rise.  I  did 
not  know  what  to  do.  Little  wife  was  bending 
over  the  top  of  the  chair,  laughing,  sobbing  —  I 
could  not  tell  which.  Pretty  soon  a  tear  came 
plashing  down  on  my  hand.  I  couldn't  stand  it 
any  longer.  I  just  held  out  my  arms,  and  some- 
thing —  or,  rather,  somebody  —  stole  into  them, 
and  nestled  there. 

"  Little  Slippers,"  I  asked,  in  as  severe  a  tone 


BIG  SLIPPERS   AND   LITTLE  SLIPPERS.         145 

as  I  could :  "  how  much  did  you  hear  of  my  foolish 
talk  ?  I  thought  you  were  out." 

"I  was  out,  but  I  came  directly  after  you  did, 
Big  Slippers." 

"  Then  you  heard  it  all  ?  " 

"  I'm  —  afraid  so." 

"  Did  I  say  anything  I  ought  not  to  have  said, 
Little  Slippers  ?  " 

«  Ye— s." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  You  said  that  you  —  at  least,  you  said  that  Big 
Slippers  was  a  selfish,  forgetful,  shabby,  unsympa- 
thetic, ungainly  —  brute  !  " 

"  And  isn't  he  ?  " 

44  No  !  "  (prolonged  and  accompanied  with  an  em- 
phatic hug.) 

"  What  is  he,  then  ?  " 

"  He  is  noble,  and  good,  and  warm-hearted,  and 
unselfish,  and  sympathetic.  He  is  the  dearest, 
sweetest,  kindest,  handsomest  husband  there  is  in 
the  whole  world  !  " 

(Instead  of  stars^  slip  in  kisses  /) 

"  Little  Slippers,  what  shall  it  be  ?  " 

44  A  sealskin  sacque  and  a  new  muff  —  for 
Christmas !  " 

44  And  what  am  I  to  have  —  now  ?  " 


146  ,  JOHNNY  DUMPSEY'S  KTTSE. 

Without  a  word,  Little  Slippers  reached  down, 
took  something  from  beneath  the  chair,  and  laid 
it  in  my  hands.  I  unwrapped  the  parcel.  It  was 
a  new  pair  of  Big  Slippers. 


JOHNNY  DUMPSEY'S  KTJSE. 

Now  that  the  sun  rises  so  early  in  the  morning, 
Johnny  Dumpsey  has  developed  a  baleful  habit  of 
deserting  his  downy  couch  long  before  the  rest  of 
the  family  have  finished  their  peaceful  morning 
slumbers. 

For  several  days  it  was  a  great  grief  to  the  young 
man  to  have  to  wander  about  the  house  in  loneliness 
and  quiet,  waiting  for  the  god  of  slumber  to  finish 
his  session  with  the  folks ;  but  a  few  mornings  ago 
he  made  a  discovery,  and  put  into  execution  a  plan 
which  temporarily  filled  his  youthful  soul  with 
rapture. 

He  found  that  when  the  cook  seized  the  cleaver, 
and  with  thick-raining  and  re-echoing  blows,  like 
the  anvil  solo  of  old  Vulcan,  assailed  the  elastic 
steak  which  was  destined  to  tax  the  Dumpseyan 
digestive  apparatus  at  breakfast,  the  various  mem- 


JOHNNY  DUMPSEY'S  RUSE.  147 

bers  of  the  family,  with,  sighs  and  yawns,  stirred  in 
their  respective  couches,  and  presently,  with  infinite 
reluctance,  arose. 

Johnny's  fertile  brain  conceived  a  scheme. 

The  next  morning  at  six  o'clock  he  crept  from  the 
bosom  of  Morpheus,  donned  his  garments,  and  secur- 
ing a  rubber  blanket  and  a  hatchet,  went  down  into 
the  shed  and  began  to  pound.  Drowsy  snorts  and 
groans  presently  arose  from  the  Dumpseyan  bowers 
of  sleep,  and  as  Johnny  ceased  from  his  labors,  and 
went  outside  to  lay  a  banana  skin  in  the  place  where 
the  milkman  was  wont  to  come  running  round  the 
corner  of  the  house,  can  in  hand,  he  saw  a  glimmer 
of  white  in  the  window  of  the  parental  chamber, 
and  his  cup  of  joy  was  full. 

How  pleasant  it  was  to  have  company  in  the  dole- 
ful hours  of  early  morn,  while  the  house  still  reeked 
with  the  penetrating  odor  of  kerosene,  and  the  cook 
wept  for  very  smoke  ! 

Johnny  hung  around  in  the  shed  until  he  saw  the 
milkman  step  oh  the  banana  peel,  sprawl  frantically 
forward,  sling  four  gallons  of  milk  into  the  wood 
pile,  and  mop  up  a  mud  puddle  with  the  front  of  his 
overcoat.. 

The  little  Samaritan  then  came  out,  wiped  the  poor 
•man's  blinded  eyes  with  a  handkerchief,  snapped  the 


148  JOHNNY  DUMPSEY'S  RUSE. 

bell-crowned  hat  back  into  shape,  and  brought  the 
battered  and  empty  milk  can  from  the  wood  pile. 

The  milkman  thanked  him  tenderly  and  gave  him 
five  cents;  and  Johnny  went  upstairs,  his  bosom 
almost  bursting  with  a  sense  of  his  own  goodness. 

"Johnny,"  cried  Mr.  Dumpsey,  from  the  bed- 
room ;  "  how  near  is  breakfast  ready  ?  Have  I  got 
time  for  a  shave  ?  " 

"Yes  —  if  you  hurry  like  lightning,"  replied 
Johnny. 

And  then  he  sat  down  on  a  trunk  by  the  door  to 
watch  the  blood  flow. 

Mr.  Dumpsey  flew  around  and  concocted  a  lather, 
honed  his  razor  a  few  times,  and  laid  on.  All  went 
well  for  a  few  strokes,  and  then  Johnny  kicked 
one  of  his  father's  slippers  under  the  bed  and 
remarked,  — 

"  Golly !   the  steak  smells  good,  don't  it?  " 

This  upset  Mr.  Dumpsey's  nerves,  and  he  gave 
himself  a  slash  under  the  right  ear. 

"  Get  out  of  the  room,  you !  What  are  you 
looking  at  me  so  for  ?  "  yelled  Mr.  Dumpsey. 

Johnny  slid  quickly  off  the  trunk  and  went  into 
the  sitting-room.  Presently  his  mother,  clad  in 'her 
role  de  nuit,  with  her  hair  falling  down  her  back, 
poked  her  head  into  the  room. 


JOHNNY  DUMPSEY'S  RUSE.  149 

"  You  there,  Johnny  ?  " 

"Yes,  'm." 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  can  tell  Julia  to  bring  up  my 
breakfast  this  morning.  I  don't  believe  I  shall  have 
time  to  dress." 

This  tickled  Johnny  immensely;  but  he  only 
giggled  and  kept  his  secret  to  himself. 

Pretty  soon  Mr.  Dumpsey  came  paddling  around, 
looking  for  his  odd  slipper,  and  Johnny  became 
intensely  absorbed  in  a  cook  book.  Mr.  Dumpsey's 
face  was  gory,  and  his  clean  shirt-bosom  was  disfig- 
ured by  two  or  three  large  spots  of  sanguinary 
lather.  He  scowled  at  Johnny,  and  went  poking 
his  slipperless  foot  under  the  lounge  and  the  table 
and  the  bookcase ;  and  in  the  course  of  his  peregri- 
nations his  eyes  fell  upon  the  clock. 

"  Well,  I  declare  !  "  he  exclaimed:  "she  ran  down 
last  night,  didn't  she  ?  First  time  in  three  years." 

He  went  back  into  the  bedroom  to  get  his  watch 
and  see  what  time  it  was,  and  Johnny  rose,  whist- 
ling unconcernedly,  and  went  downstairs. 

"  What  be  all  the  folks  up  at  this  time  of  day  for, 
I'd  like  , to  know?"  inquired  the  cook,  wiping  her 
red  eyes  and  nose  on  her  apron. 

"  Oh,  they  are  going  to  get  up  earlier  right  along 
now,"  explained  Johnny :  "  I  guess  pa's  come  to  the 


150  JOHNNY  DUMPSEY'S  KUSE. 

conclusion  that  he  can't  afford  to  be  so  lazy.  Say, 
Mary,  what  makes  the  wood  so  wet  this  morning? 
Has  it  been  rainin'  ?  " 

The  cook  looked  sharply  at  Johnny,  but  said 
nothing;  and  the  young  man  concluded  that  his 
benefactor  of  the  morning  had  imposed  a  vow  of 
eternal  secrecy  upon  that  voluble  domestic. 

"  Well,  when  Julia  gets  up,  you  tell  her  that  ma 
wants  her  breakfast  brought  to  her,  will  you?  "  he 
said,  and  was  going  out  into  the  shed,  when  his 
father  entered  the  kitchen. 

"  Is  John  here  ?     John  come  with  me  !  " 

It  passes  Johnny  Dumpsey's  comprehension  —  the 
divining  power  of  a  parent. 

An  hour  later,  when  the  actual  steak  was  pounded, 
J.  Dumpsey,  Jr.,  cringed.  His  mother's  breakfast 
was  not  carried  up ;  Johnny's  was  —  three  slices  of 
bread  and  a  small  glass  of  water. 


PIANO   PLAYING. 


T 


[HERE  seems 
to  be  a  differ- 
ence  of  opinion 
> /"about  pianos.  I 
know  a  poet  who 
thinks  he  gets  his 
inspirations  from 
the  tones  of  a  grand 
square,  and  I  also  know  an  editor  who  is  unable  to 
write  a  puff  for  the  grocery  man,  if  he  hears  a  cer- 
tain young  lady  in  the  apartments  across  the  street 
strike  the  premonitory  chords  of  a  waltz. 

Some  men  just  adore  the  cadence  of  the  diamond- 
ringed  fingers  of  the  fair  sex  upon  the  ivory  keys, 
while  others,  in  .the  language  of  the  immortal  para- 
graphist,  "  curse  and  howl  and  swear." 

It  seems  to  be  altogether  a  matter  of  individual 
taste.  One  cannot  tell  beforehand  how  this  magic 
instrument  is  going  to  affect  the  listener. 

Some  one  suggests  that  it  can  be  determined  by 
knowing  in  advance  whether  the  listener  is  a  musi- 
cian or  not.  The  writer  begs  leave  to  doubt.  The 

151 


152  PIANO   PLAYING. 

best  musician  he  ever  knew  made  up  the  most  awful 
faces,  and  squirmed  the  most  atrociously  of  all,  in  a 
little  circle  of  music  lovers  invited  by  a  certain  rich 
papa  to  come  and  hear  his  boarding-school  daughter 
play.  I  was  charmed,,  of  course ;  but  then  the  girl 
had  a  remarkably  pretty  profile,  and  was  worth, 
prospectively,  a  few  millions.  It  became  me  to  be 
charmed. 

I  really  do  not  think  that  the  effect  of  piano 
playing  can  be  determined,  definitely,  until  the 
subject  has  been  experimented  upon.  I  once  was 
told  of  a  most  ferociously  brave  Indian,  who  had 
captured  an  innumerable  number  of  scalps,  and  was 
well  known  to  all  the  hair-dealers  west  of  Chicago 
—  I  heard  that  he  one  day  crept  into  a  Montana 
settler's  cabin,  while  the  folks  were  all  away  except 
the  daughter  of  the  house,  with  the  laudable-  inten- 
tion of  increasing  his  stock-in-trade  by  inducing  the 
said  young  lady  to  part  with  her  luxuriant  tresses. 
He  discovered  her  seated  at  what  he  supposed  to  be 
a  new-fangled  kind  of  a  meat  chopper,  and  stealing 
softly  up  behind  her,  was  just  reaching  out  his 
sanguinary  fist  to  grasp  her  long  scalp-lock,  when, 
with  all  the  energy  of  a  Western  girl,  she  brought 
down  her  floury  fingers  upon  the  first  chord  of 
"  Johnny  Comes  Marching  Home  Again." 


PIANO  PLAYING.  153 

This  was  too  much  for  the  unsuspecting  red  man. 
With  a  wild  yell  of  terror,  he  dropped  his  butcher- 
knife,  and  sprang  through  the  window,  carrying 
sash  and  all  with  him.  The  belle  of  the  prairie 
jumped  up  just  in  time  to  see  Ochewochee  (which, 
being  translated,  signifies  "  Fundamental  Barber  "  ) 
disappearing  over  the  crest  of  a  neighboring  swell, 
with  the  sash  dangling  down  his  back  and  slapping 
his  legs  at  every  spring. 

It  will  be  readily  admitted  that  the  young  lady 
could  not  have  foreseen  this  enthusiastic  reception 
of  her  musical  effort;  neither  could  she  with  cer- 
tainty have  counted  upon  an  opposite  effect.  There 
are  Indians,  no  doubt,  who  would  have  just  sunk 
into  a  chair  and  permitted  their  ravished  souls  to 
melt  in  tears  of  rapture  and  sympathy. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  may  safely  assume  that 
had  the  male  relatives  of  the  young  lady  been  com- 
pelled to  listen  to  the  same  palpitating  strains,  they 
would  indignantly  have  called  for  the  frying-pan 
and  assuaged  their  souls  with  the  more  seductive 
andante  of  frying  pork. 

It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  piano  playing  is 
one  of  the  things  which  the  sage  Josh  Billings 
would  call  "  onsartin,"  There  are  those  whose 
souls  yearn  for  it,  as  the  soul  of  the  youthful  artist 


154  PIANO   PLAYING. 

yearns  for  a  paiirt  pot  and  a  square  yard  of  board 
fence.  There  are  thbse  who  can  sit  by  the  hour 
listening  to  the  strains  —  beg  pardon,  the  endeavors 
of  a  young  lady  in  a  pink  satin  waist  and  a  pearl 
necklace,  as  she  hammers  away  at  the  divine  har- 
monies of  a  Mendelssohn  or  a  Beethoven.  But 
there  are  others  who  would  rather  not.  Tastes 
certainly  do  differ.  It  is  with  music  as  it  is  with 
onions — some  like  'em  and  some  don't. 

Occasionally,  there  will  rise  upon  the  horizon  of 
art  a  being  whose  very  presence  breathes  the  soul 
of  light  and  beauty  —  a  divine,  unapproachable, 
foreordained  genius.  And  when  such  an  one  ex- 
pends the  energies  of  youth  and  the  devotion  of 
maturity  upon  the  n^steries  of  the  many-keyed 
instrument,  practising  early  and  late,  and  inflicting 
untold  agonies  upon  innumerable  brain-workers,  at 
last  —  at  last,  mind  you  —  when  the  wrinkles  of 
toil  and  care  begin  to  seam  the  fresh  young  brow, 
and  the  days  of  youth  are  floating  out  into  the 
shadowy  past  like  a  sunset  cloud  in  the  gathering 
dusk  —  then  it  will  be  said  of  that  one,  by  those 
who  have  true  artist  souls,  that  he  or  she  knows 
how  to  play  the  piano. 

But  as  for  the  much-enduring  editor,  and  the 
money-making  citizen,  and  the  man  of  prosaic  tend- 


ON  DOGS.  155 

encies  in  general  —  will  he  be  able  to  detect  the 
difference?  Not  much!  All  piano  playing  is  alike 
to  him,  a  vexation  of  soul,  and  a  vain  reaching  after 
the  unattainable. 


ON  DOGS. 

THE  man  who  has  never  owned  a  dog  is€  not  fit 
to  die.  He  has  not  had  his  legitimate  share  of  fun 
in  this  present  life.  He  may  have  run  through  the 
whole  catalogue  of  mortal  pleasures  besides ;  but 
if  he  has  neglected  this  one  supreme  privilege  of 
man,  he  has  left  at  least  one-half  of  the  contents  of 
the  cup  of  human  happiness  untasted. 

And  why  ? 

Because,  in  the  first  place,  a  dog  is  funny  —  in- 
trinsically and  necessarily  funny.  He  can't  help  it ; 
he  is  born  so.  He  has  just  enough  of  human  nature 
in  him  to  make  him  delightfully  and  irresistibly 
ridiculous.  If  monkeys  were  as  intelligent  as  dogs, 
we  should  be  sending  them  to  school  and  buying 
their  votes  at  the  poles.  But,  unfortunately,  the 
intelligence  of  the  dog  is  in  such  a  form  that  he 
doesn't  get  the  advantage  of  it.  A  dog  can  be  im- 
mensely pleased,  as  well  as  anybody ;  but  what  a 
misfortune  to  have  to  hi  ugh  or  applaud  with  a  tail  I 


156  ON  DOGS. 

Again,  nobody  can  enjoy  companionship  better 
than  a  dog;  and  yet,  what  a  whimsical  perplexity 
he  has  in  trying  to  convince  you  of  it !  His  finest 
expression  of  the  joys  of  good  fellowship  consists  in 
planting  his  muddy  feet  on  the  most  sacred  portion 
of  your  raiment,  and  attacking  your  face  with  the 
moist  caresses  of  his  tongue. 

Can  any  one,  I  ask,  who  has  a  soul  for  humor,  fail 
to  find  inexhaustible  merriment  in  this  embryotic 
humanity  of  the  dog  ?  He  is  most  irresistibly  funny 
when  you  try  to  interpret  him,  to  settle  down  and 
have  a  conversation  with  him,  and  get  a  peep  into 
that  curious  inner  nature  of  his,  which  one  really 
does  not  know  whether  to  call  a  soul  or  a  nerve- 
centre.  He  is  vastly  obliged  to  you  for  your  con- 
descension, and  yet,  I  fancy,  he  suspects  all  the 
time  that  you  are  making  game  of  him.  There  !  — 
did  you  catch  that  quick,  subtle,  whimsical  side- 
glance  from  the  corner  of  his  eye?  That  means 
that  he  understands  you  pretty  well,  but  thinks  so 
much  of  you  and  your  sense  of  delicacy  that  he 
wouldn't  have  you  suspect  it  for  the  world. 

There  is  vastly  more  fun  in  talking  to  a  dog  than 
in  talking  to  a  fool  —  because  a  dog  is  no  fool.  He 
appreciates  everything  you  say,  and  would  give  a 
precious  year  or  two  of  his  brief  earthly  existence  to 


6tf  DOGS.  157 

be  able  to  put  his  own  sentiments  into  words.  But 
as  he  cannot  do  this,  he  gets  along  the  best  way  he 
can  with  those  wonderfully  expressive  eyes  of  his 
and  the  eloquence  of  that  ecstatic  tail.  Scold  him, 
and  he  wilts;  praise  him,  and  he.  is  too  delighted  to 
keep  still ;  talk  to  him,  and  I  warrant  you  will  have 
no  better  listener,  whether  the  subject  be  within  the 
range  of  his  comprehension  or  not.  Only,  do  not 
laugh  out  rudely  at  his  interest,  because  that  grieves 
him,  and  the  best  and  most  delightful  sort  of  laugh- 
ter never  breaks  from  the  lips.  One  can  be  im- 
mensely amused  with  a  dog,  and  yet  never  let  him 
suspect  it. 

And  then  there  is  another  reason  why  no  man  is 
fit  to  die  who  has  never  owned  a  dog.  A  dog  tests 
a  man's  saintliness  very  thoroughly.  I  always  have 
my  doubts  about  a  person's  getting  to  heaven,  be  he 
ever  so  good,  who  has  not  become  acquainted  with 
the  propensities  of  the  canine  race.  I  look  upon  it 
as  the  supreme  indorsement  of  character  to  be  good 
and  own  a  dog.  For  let  it  not  be  supposed  that  the 
ordinary  dog,  however  amiable  his  disposition  may 
be,  is  altogether  blameless  and  without  fault.  On 
the  contrary,  he  has  several  faults,  and  it  is  seldom 
that  they  are  all  dormant  at  the  same  time.  And, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  dog's  chief  fault  grows 


158  ON  DOGS. 

out  of  the  superabundance  of  his  chief  grace  — viz., 
affection. 

It  is  not  always  amusing,  for  instance,  to  have  the 
pet  of  the  household  track  the  family  to  church,  and 
come  bounding  up  the  aisle  just  as  the  minister  is 
folding  his  hands  over  the  velvet  desk  for  the  long 
prayer.  Nor  is  it  altogether  conducive  to  the  growth 
of  personal  piety  to  have  your  dog  meet  you  at  the 
door  when  you  are  arrayed  for  a  grand  party,  and 
bedaub  your  doeskins  or  silks  with  loving  impres- 
sions of  his  muddy  paws. 

And  there  are  other  faults  peculiar  to  the  dog.  If 
he  is  a  dog  of  impulsive  temperament  —  as  most 
dogs  are  —  he  will  bark  vociferously,  and  oftentimes 
spitefully,  at  everybody  who  comes  near  the  house, 
from  the  butcher  or  the  milkman,  to  the  fine  lady 
who  calls  in  a  carriage,  or  the  reverend  gentleman 
who  comes  to  pay  his  ministerial  respects.  A  dog  is 
verily  no  respecter  of  persons.  He  is  also  no  re- 
spector  of  neighbors'  rights.  He  will  pursue,  and, 
if  possible,  annihilate  a  cat  or  chicken  on  the  other 
side  of  the  fence  just  as  readily  as  on  this  side. 

If  there  is  a  fresh  garden-bed  anywhere  in  the 
vicinity,  he  will  be  almost  sure  to  bury  his  bones 
and  other  victims  therein,  to  the  great  detriment  of 
the  various  germinal  bodies  previously  interred  upon 


the  spot.  He  is  sometimes  pettish  where  he  does 
not  fancy,  thievish  where  he  does,  and  indolent 
where  he  doesn't  care.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all 
these  faults,  the  dog  is  one  of  the  most  lovable 
creatures  under  the  sun.  You  must  know  him  to 
appreciate  him,  and  in  order  to  know  him  you  must 
own  him. 

You  can't  get  much  fun  out  of  somebody  else's 
dog.  He  won't  give  himself  away  to  you  worth  a 
cent.  But  the  beauty  of  it  is,  poverty  is  no  barrier 
to  the  possession  of  a  dog.  In  fact,  the  more  ex- 
treme a  man's  poverty  is,  the  more  dogs  he  can  afford 
to  keep.  This  seems  to  be  the  general  rule.  It  is 
one  of  the  compensations  for  being  poor.  A  dog 
may  cost  six  hundred  dollars,  and  yet  be  no  more  of 
a  dog  than  one  you  may  have  for  the  asking.  A 
little  curly-tailed  fyke  is  just  as  good  for  companion- 
able purposes  as  a  high-bred  setter  or  pug.  No  man 
need  hang  back  on  the  score  of  expense. 

Then  let  me  advise  every  reader  who  is  in  search 
of  genuine  unadulterated,  lasting  fun,  to  invest  in 
a  dog.  It  is  an  investment  which  will  yield  him 
one  hundred  and  ten  per  cent,  annually,  besides 
dividends  on  the  profits,  and  plenty  of  chances  to 
speculate  on  margins. 


160  THE. FISHING  SEASON. 


THE  FISHING  SEASON. 

IT  is  the  first  of  May.  The  fishing  "season  is  now 
in  full  blast,  and  the  immodest  prevarication  appears 
in  public  in  low  neck  and  short  sleeves.  Two 
essential  qualifications  are  necessary  for  a  man  to 
be  a  good  fisherman.  He  must  have  a  sublime 
disregard  for  exact  moral  distinctions,  and  a  sun- 
burned nose.  Any  piscatorial  sportsman  who  does 
not  possess  these  qualifications  is  a  dude  and  a 
Pharisee. 

The  best  time  to  fish  is  early  in  the  morning,  just 
before  sunrise.  This  is  the  time  of  day  when  a 
man  feels  hilarious  and  full  of  energy.  Later  in 
the  day  he  may  be  just  as  hilarious,  but  he  is  gener- 
ally full  of  something  else  which  is  apt  to  interfere 
with  his  success.  As  for  bait,  the  fly  of  commerce 
undoubtedly  holds  the  palm  for  beauty,  but  the 
humble  angle-worm  can  crawl  all  around  it  in  point 
of  effectiveness. 

"The  only  objection  to  the  latter  is,  that  it  some- 
times has  a  tendency  to  develop  in  proportions  most 
astonishingly  before  the  day  is  over,  and  it  often 
happens  that  a  mere  pepper-box  full  of  this  plebeian 
bait  will  fill  the  entire  bottom  of  a  boat,  in  the 


THE  FISHING  SEASOtf.  161 

course  of  a  few  hours,  with  reptiles  the  size  of  a 
man's  arm.  But  as  this  never  happens  except  when 
a  man  has  ceased  to  care  whether  the  fish  bite  or 
not,  the  sudden  development  of  -his  bait  is  a  matter 
of  little  consequence. 

The  man  who  has  an  insane  idea  that  the  only 
proper  way  to  fish  is  with  a  fly,  is  to  be  pitied.  He 
is  a  good  deal  like  the  man  who  abstains  from  hug- 
ging while  making  love,  for  fear  that  he  may  get  too 
much  fun  out  of  life.  The  Barmecide  idea  robs 
men  of  a  good  deal  of  legitimate  enjoyment  in  this 
world.  The  fly-fisherman  is  a  very  honorable,  high- 
minded  person,  but  that  does  not  prevent  his  buying 
a  string  of  fish  from  the  small  boy  with  the  bent  pin 
and  the  angle-worm,  and  palming  them  off  for 
his  own.  He  would  not  condescend  to  capture 
a  trout  with  a  common  earthworm  —  that  would 
be  dishonorable  —  but  his  conscience  does  not  shrink 
from  letting  somebody  else  capture  the  prize  in  this 
contemptible  way,  and  selling  it  to  him  to  make  false 
representations  with.  Fly-fishing  is  undoubtedly  a 
very  beautiful  pastime,  but  it  is  mostly  all  fly. 

The  chief  pleasure  of  going  fishing  comes  before 
and  afterward.  A  man  can  have  lots  of  fun  getting 
his  tackle  cready  and  attending  to  the  putting-up  of 
his  own  luncheon.  He  can  also  take  great  pride 


162  THE  FISHING  SEASON. 

and  satisfaction  in,  relating  his  exploits  after  lie  gets 
home  —  provided  no  eyewitness  is  present.  But 
while  he  is  actually  engaged  in  depleting  the  finny 
tribe,  a  man  generally  looks  upon  himself  with  less 
self-complacency  than  at  any  other  time.  And  when 
the  sun  gets  low  enough  to  take  him  full  in  the  nose, 
he  is  sure  that  he  is  a  fool. 


THE  AMATEUR  CARPENTER. 

I 
.  j 

T  is  great  fun  to  watch  an  amateur  car- 
penter. He  usually  knows  how  to  use 
tools  just  about  as  well  as  a  hen  turkey 
knows  how  to  paint  a  rose.  He  may  be 
a  good,  honest,  and  even  virtuous  citizen 
in  other  respects,  but  when  he  retires  to  his  work- 
room, and  strips  off  his  coat  and  vest  for  a  little 
recreation  with  edged  tools,  it  is  just  as  well  not  to 
have  any  of  the  women  folks  or  children  within- 
hearing.  The  dog  may  come  in,  if  he  wants  to,  but 
it  must  be  with  the  understanding  that  it  is  at  his 
own  risk.  It  is  said  that  dogs  are  intelligent. 
Some  dogs  are ;  but  the  dog  that  persists  in  hang- 
ing around  an  amateur  carpenter  isn't  worth  the 
leather  it  takes  to  make  his  collar. 

The  amateur  carpenter  always  wants  to  make 
something,  right  off.  He  is  never  content  to  go 
through  with  a  course  of  experimental  processes  in 
wood.  If  he  saws  a  board,  it  is  not  to  see  how  well 
or  how  straight  he  can  learn  to  do  it,  but  to  make  it 
fit  into  some  mechanical  creation  of  his  fertile  brain. 

163 


164        THE  AMATEUR  CARPENTER. 

If  he  drives  a  nail,  it  is  not  to  discover  the  mystery 
of  doing  it  without  splitting  either  of  the  surfaces 
which  it  joins,  or  how  to  keep  it  from  staggering 
around  like  a  lamp-post  on  a  club  night.  He, drives 
it,  of  course,  to  make  the  sides  of  a  box  stick  on,  or 
to  seal  up.  a  crack  in  a  pine  bootjack.  It  is  this 
insatiable  constructive  passion  which  gets  the  ama- 
teur carpenter  into  trouble.  If  he  would  be  con- 
tent with  using  his  tools,  at  first,  to  find  out  how  to 
use  them,  and  afterward  to  find  out  what  to  use 
them  for,  he  would  get  along  much  better.  But  no ; 
he  must  make  something  right  away.  He  has  an 
ideal  in  his  head,'and  he  immediately  sets  to  work  to 
carve  it  out  in  cold  pine  and  nails. 

By  and  by,  after  a  great  deal  of  sweating  and 
internal  profanity,  he  gets  the  pieces,  the  constituent 
parts,  of  the  thing  blocked  out ;  'and  here  he  takes  a 
rest,  and  contemplates  his  blistered  palms  with  con- 
siderable self-satisfaction.  It  looks  as  though  the 
chief  difficulty  had  been  conquered,  and  all  that 
remains  to  do  is  to  put  the  pieces  together,  and  the 
thing  will  be  done.  But  alas  for  his  short-lived  con- 
fidence !  The  trials  of  the  amateur  carpenter  have 
but  just  begun. 

When  he  buckles  to  work  again,  he  is  astonished 
to  find  that  the  constituent  parts  of  his  conception 


THE  AMATEUR,   CARPENTER.  165 

don't  harmonize,  as  you  may  say,  worth  a  cent. 
This  was  surely  the  end  of  the  thing,  but  it  doesn't 
match  the  beginning,  opposite,  any  more  than  a  bad 
egg  matches  the  complexion  of  a  delicate  appetite. 
One  slants  to  the  north,  and  the  other  to  the  south; 
one  is  bigger  at  the  top,  and  the  other  at  the  bottom. 
Change  them  around,  and  it  works  just  the  other 
way,  but  for  the  life  of  him  he  can't  fix  them  so  that 
they  will  come  out  even.  He  tries  the  sides,  and 
they  are  four  times  as  bad.  One  laps  over  the  two 
ends  about  an  inch  each  way,  and  the  other  one  is 
about  an  inch  too  short  each  way.  The  top  and 
bottom  of  the  concern  are  away  off  from  the  ideal 
—  as  much  as  four  miles.  The  top  is  so  small  that 
it  falls  in,  and  the  bottom  is  so  big  that  it  won't  fit 
in.  It  would  take  an  architectural  genius  greater 
than  that  of  Sir  Christopher  'Wren  to  make  the  six 
parts  of  that  ideal  box  coalesce. 

Then  the  amateur  carpenter  pours  out  the  vials 
of  his  wrath.  With  one  mighty  kick  he  sends  the 
ingredients  of  his  first  masterpiece  flying  across  the 
room.  The  dog  gets  the  piece  that  is  full  of  half- 
driven  nails  just  in  that  portion  of  his  anatomy  most 
vitalty  connected  with  his  howling  apparatus,  and  the 
chorus  of  curses  and  yells  that  ascends  from  that 
small  back  chamber  is  something  awful.  To  add 


166         THE  AMATEUR  CARPENTER. 

to  his  boiling  rage,  the  amateur  carpenter  has 
severely  sprained  and  otherwise  inconvenienced  his 
two  most  efficient  toes,  from  having  forgotten  the 
fact  that  he  had  his  slippers  on,  instead  of  his 
boots,  when  his  emotions  got  the  better  of  him. 

On  the  whole,  his  first  effort  cannot  be  set  down 
as  an  unqualified  success.  Still,  he  does  not  wish  to 
give  up  so  easily ;  so,  after  hobbling  around  and 
kicking  the  dog  three  or  four  times  with  his  well 
foot,  to  even  things  up,  he  sits  down  and  tries 
to  think  of  something  simple  to  make. 

How,  for  instance,  would  a  doll  table  for  the 
little  girl  do?  A  square  bit  of  board,  with  four 
holes  bored  at  the  four  corners,  and  rounded 
sticks  driven  into  them,  would  be  the  general  plan 
of  it.  Simple  enough,  surely.  He  can  do  that 
without  any  trouble.  So  up  he  gets,  selects  his 
board,  and  proceeds  to  saw  off  the  requisite  portion 
of  it.  When  about  half  way  through  the  board  the 
saw  sticks,  and  will  not  move  either  way.  The  ama- 
teur carpenter  tugs  away  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  his  choler  begins  to  rise  —  not  his  paper  collar ; 
that  was  up  about  his  ears  a  good  while  ago.  He 
jumps  up  on  the  bench,  plants  both  feet  on  the 
board,  grabs  the  saw-handle,  and  jerks  backward 
with  all  his  might. 


THE   AMATEUR   CARPENTER.  167 

The  saw  comes  out  with  a  rush,  and  the  amateur 
carpenter  swoops  down  off  the  bench  and  plunges 
the  back  of  his  head  into  the  nail  box.  Fortunately, 
his  collar  protects  his  scalp  somewhat,  and  he  escapes 
with  a  vision  of  two  .billion  stars  and  a  long,  raw 
scratch  on  the  neck.  Again  the  poor  dog  howls  in 
sympathy  with  his  afflicted  master,  and  vainly  seeks 
an  exit  from  the  chamber  of  horrors. 

The  saw,  however,  is  now  out  of  the  board, 
and  a  brilliant  thought  occurs  to  the  amateur  car- 
penter. He  has  heard  that  lard  or  tallow  rubbed  on 
a  refractory  saw  will  cause  it  to  glide  with  the  most 
charming  smoothness  through  the  tightest  kind  of  a 
btfard.  So  he  goes  and  hunts  up  the  servant,  and 
persuades  her  to  let  him  take  the  lard  pail.  Armed 
with  this,  he  returns  to  his  stronghold,  and  the  dog 
—  like  a  thick-headed  fool  —  returns  with  him.  The 
amateur  carpenter  besmears  the  saw,  for  its  entire 
length,  on  both  sides,  with  lard,  an  inch  deep,  and 
then  goes  for  the  board  again. 

The  saw  runs  easier ;  but  the  lard  covers  up  his 
guiding-mark,  and  he  works  off  on  a  sort  of  tangent, 
so  that  when  the  board  end  at  last  drops  off,  its  shape 
reminds  him  of  the  drawings  he  used  to  make  on  his 
slate  when  he  was  a  schoolboy.  It  will  do,  however, 
for  such  "a  rude  and  simple  affair  as  a  home-made  doll 


168         THE  AMATEUR  CARPENTER. 

table.  Now  he  must  bore  the  holes  in  the  four 
corners. 

He  selects  a  bit  of  about  the  right  size,  screws  it 
into  the  bit-brace,  put  his  block  over  a  hole  in  the 
bench,  weights  it,  and  proceeds  to  bore.  For  a  few 
moments  the  chips  fly  right  lively ;  then  there  is*  an 
ominous  cracking  sound,  the  bit  goes  through  with 
a  rush,  and  the  amateur  carpenter,  unable  to  recover 
himself,  comes  down  slap  on  the  bench,  knocking  all 
the  wind  out  of  him,  and  giving  himself  a  sanguin- 
ary nose,  by  banging  that  member  against  the 
tool-chest. 

This  ends  his  recreation  for  the  first  day.  With 
a  howl  of  anguish  and  rage  he  darts  from  the  room, 
holding  his  nose  in  his  hand  and  yelling  for  a  hand- 
kerchief. Finally,  after  his  devoted  wife  has  dropped 
half  a  dozen  bunches  of  cold  keys  down  his  back, 
and  has  cut  up  a  quire  of  note-paper  for  him  to 
hold  under  his  tongue,  and  gone  through  the  whole 
list  of  superstitious  remedies  for  nose-bleed,  he  re- 
covers, bathes,  clothes  himself,  and  returns  to  his 
right  mind. 

Then  he  goes  back  to  his  business,  thanking 
Heaven  that  the  hour  for  recreation  comes  but  once 
a  day. 


THE  INTELLIGENCE  OF  CATS. 

MUCH  has  been  said  and  written  about  the  in- 
telligence of  cats.  From  personal  observa- 
tion I  am  enabled  to  offer,  as  an  humble  contribution 
to  this  great  subject,  the  following  instances  of  re- 
markable feline  intelligence. 

I  once  knew  a  cat  which  would  invariably  come 
into  the  house  every  time  it  rained.  No  matter  how 
suddenly  the  shower  might  come  up,  or  how  con- 
fusing might  be  the  flash  and  crash  and  commotion 
of  the  elements,  this  sagacious  animal,  instead  of 
standing  with  its  tail  between  its  legs,  and  allowing 
the  raindrops  to  percolate  through  its  silken  fur, 
would  actually  select  an  open  door  or  window  —  and 
this,  too,  when  there  were  closed  doors  and  windows 
in  its  immediate  vicinity  —  and  bound  through  it 
with  the  intelligence  and  presence  of  mind  of  a 
much  superior  being.  k 

Nor  was  this  wonderful  exhibition  of  reason  and 
sagacity  a  semi-occasional  occurrence.  On  the  con- 
trary, this  intelligent  cat  would  pursue  the  same 
course  of  action  with  almost  as  much  regularity  as 
the  rain  itself,  so  that  it  was  always  possible  to  tell 

169 


170  THE  INTELLIGENCE  OF  CATS. 

when  it  was  damp  weather  outside,  by  the  presence 
of  a  draggled  form  in  the  best  parlor  chair,  or  on  the 
whitest  bedspread  ;  and  the  family  which  owned  the 
cat,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  never  owned,  and 
never  cared  to  own,  any  other  barometer.  And  they 
did  not  own  this  one  above  the  space  of  six  weeks. 

Next  in  order,  I  recall  the  case  of  a  cat  which  I 
once  owned  myself,  and  which  I  attempted  to  shoot. 
The  first  time  I  shot  at  it  was  when  it  was  a  kitten. 
I  laid  it  down  on  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  took 
long  and  deliberate  aim,  and  fired.  When  the 
smoke  cleared  away,  the  kitten  was  seen  placidly 
crawling  along  on  the  tree  trunk,  looking  for  a  place 
to  get  down.  I  examined  it  carefully  all  over,  but 
could  not  find  the  mark  of  a  single  shot.  This 
instance  of  remarkable  sagacity  so  overpowered  me 
for  the  time  being  that  I  was  unable  to  reload  my 
gun,  and  I  respectfully  carried  the  kitten  into  the 
house  and  set  up  the  milk  —  half  a  pint  —  warm. 

Two  years  afterward  I  again  attempted  to  shoot 
the  same  cat  —  with  another  gun.  When  the  cat 
saw  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  pointed  at  her  she  sat 
down  and  began  to  lick  her  paws.  This  piece  of 
strategy  completely  unmanned  me,  and  I  was  obliged 
to  lay  down  my  gun,  so  greatly  were  my  nerves 
affected.  The  wise  cat  lived  on  for  six  months 


THE    INTELLIGENCE   OF   CATS. 


171 


longer,  when  some  instance  of  intellectual  suprem- 
acy on  her  part  made  me  jealous,  and  I  determined 
to  shoot  her  yet  once  more.  I  took  her  out  by  the 
barn  and  set  her  down. 


An  ordinary  cat  would  have  sat  still  until  after  I 
shot;  but  this  extraordinarily  gifted  animal  no 
sooner  observed  that  I  had  nothing  further  to  offer 
in  the  way  of  caresses,  than  she  made  a  bolt  for  a 
hole  under  the  barn,  and  escaped  a  tremendous 
charge  of  number  two  shot  by  about  three  feet  and 


172  THE  INTELLIGENCE   OF   CATS. 

four  inches.  A  neat  and  commodious  grave  was  dug 
very  expeditiously  on  the  spot  where  she  ought 
to  have  been,  but  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  she 
did  not  occupy  it.  That  cat  finally  died  of  old  age, 
aggravated  by  mental  overwork.  Her  brain  is 
preserved  in  alcohol. 

The  third  cat  was  one  of  the  Thomas  variety.  He 
belonged  to  four  or  five  different  feline  minstrel 
troops,  and  had  by  all  odds^  the  largest  and  most 
carefully  polished  voice  in  the  neighborhood.  It 
was  really  amusing  to  see  how  intelligent  this 
Thomas  cat  was.  When  rudely  knocked  from  the 
ridgepole  of  a  shed,  or  the  top-board  of  a  back  fence, 
by  a  well-aimed  bootjack,  he  never  used  to  crawl 
meekly  back  in  the  same  spot,  as  &  cat  with  a  one- 
horse  brain  would  be  expected  to  do. 

On  the  contrary,  he  would  sling  all  his  musical 
soul  into  his  tail,  and  cavort  around  the  neighborhood 
like  a  materialized  streak  of  blue  profanity,  until  he 
had  collected  a  whole  orchestra  of  Thomases,  and 
then  they  would  all  go  and  sit  behind  some  row  of 
barrels,  or  in  the  shadow  of  the  woodpile,  and  lift  up 
their  united  voices  in  unpremeditated  derision.  And 
yet  what  an  oily  hypocrite  this  same  Thomas  was  by 
daylight !  Oh,  but  he  was  wise! 

He  would  go  purring  around  the  very  bootleg  that 


SPRING  OK  THE  FAKM.  173 

had  whistled  past  his  ears  early  in  the  morning,  and 
leave  great,  affectionate  clots  of  gray  hair  on  the 
pantaloons  of  his  would-be  destroyer.  And  all  this 
while  he  was  planning  the  jubilee  of  the  succeeding 
P.  M.,  and  calculating  how  long  a  stream  of  yells 
would  be  equivalent  to  the  parabola  of  a  descending, 
bootjack. 

And  yet  some  people  say  that  cats  are  not  intelli- 
gent. They  are  nothing  if  they  aren't  intelligent  — 
and  goodness  knows  they  are  not  the  former.  Shoot 
the  cat  I 


SPRING  ON  THE  FAEM. 

THE  season  has  again  arrived  when  the  cheerful 
granger  hies  him  afield  to  commune  with  Nature  in 
her  more  genial  moods,'  and  to  consign  to  the  loamy 
embraces  of  the  soil,  the  prolific  potato  and  the  long- 
eared  maize.  As  he  looks  abroad  upon  the  smiling 
expanse  of  woodland  and  meadow,  and  suffers  his 
eye  to  follow  the  fleecy  clouds  sailing  in  the  ocean  of 
sunlight  above,  his  spirit  swells  with  joy,  and  he 
enters  upon  a  mental  calculation  as  to  the  com- 
parative producing  powers  of  the  Early  Rose  and 
Burbank's  seedling. 

The  latter,  he  concludes,  is  of  too  retiring  a  dis- 


174  SPRING  ON  THE  FARM. 

position,  and  produces  too  few  to  the  hill,  to  compare 
with  its  exuberant  and  watery  rival.  He  smiles  as 
he  calculates  the  profits  which  will  accrue  from 
every  bushel  of  the  neatly  sliced  tubers,  which  he 
has  so  carefully  prepared  for  the  ministry  of  Nature. 
The  voice  of  the  turtle's  next-door  neighbor,  the 
bullfrog,  wakes  no  poetical  response  within  his  soul, 
as  he  whacks  the  off-horse  with  the  hoe,  and  goes 
bouncing  across  the  field  with  the  potato  baskets 
dancing  about  his  feet. 

All  the  morning  long  the  gladsome  granger  labors 
with  planter  and  hoe.  The  smell  of  the  soil  is  in 
his  nostrils  and  upon  his  garments,  and  his  feet 
grow  heavy  with  the  voluntary  contributions  of 
mother  earth.  At  noon  he  starts  like  the  war-horse 
at  the  bray  of  the  trumpet,  as  the  hoarse  toot  of  the 
dinner  horn  is  wafted  across  the  fields,  and,  dropping 
the  instruments  of  agriculture, t  as  Cincinnatus 
dropped  the  plough-handles  when  summoned  by 
the  couriers  from  Rome,  he  claps  his  steeds  to  his 
chariot,  and  sniffs  the  battle  from  afar.  Nature  in 
vain  appeals  to  him  with  her  myriad  voices;  he 
lingers  not.  Arrived  at  the  back  porch,  with  his 
"hired  help/'  the  tin  wash-dish  is  dug  out  from 
behind  the  woodpile,  where  it  has  lain  all  winter,  a 
tub  of  soft  soap  is  broached,  and  in  turn  the  stalwart 


ON  THE  FAKM.  175 

sons  of  the  soil  divest  themselves  of  the  evidences 
of  their  family  relationship. 

Meanwhile,  the  fragrant  pork  has  been  acquiring 
that  rich  brown  tinge  which  marks  the  top-notch  of 
its  palatable  ness,  and  the  milk-gravy,  mottled  with 
streaks. of  grease,  swims  in  the  earthenware  bowl. 
Now  to  the  feast.  Fill  high  the  foaming  tankard 
with  the  acidulated  cider,  and  let  joy  and  the  potato 
dish  go  round.  The  good  housewife,  with  cheeks 
flushed  red  as  the  coals  over  which  she  has  been 
bending,  slices  the  huge  loaf  of  bread  in  sections 
that  would  crush  an  ordinary  stomach,  and  deals 
them  right  and  left  with  unstinted  hand.  The 
balmy  air  of  spring  steals  in  at  the  open  window, 
and  gently  dallying  with  the  farmer's  fluttering  shirt 
sleeves,  sows  the  seeds  of  rheumatism  broadcast 
through  his  stalwart  frame. 

There  is  a  wealth  of  poetry  in  country  life  in  the 
springtime  of  the  year.  Besides  the  allurements  of 
the  field,  there  are  a  thousand  and  one  inferior 
charms  which  cluster  about  the  granger's  home  life. 
There  is  the  setting  hen  to  be  branded  with  the  tra- 
ditional red  rag,  and  five  or  six  litters  of  kittens  to 
be  drowned.  There  are  the  young  pigs  to  be  ten- 
derly watched,  and  rescued  from  the  rolling  pro- 
clivities of  the  sow-mother.  There  are  the  calves  to 


176  THE  COLLEGE  STtTDENT. 

be  fed,  and  the  lambs  to  be  nursed,  and  the  hens' 
eggs  to  be  hunted  up  in  all  sorts  of  inaccessible 
places ;  and  any  quantity  of  poetical  tasks  of  a 
kindred  nature,  which  sound  a  great  deal  better  in 
rhyme  than  they  do  in  prose. 

And  yet,  after  all,  the  farmer's  life  is  not  one 
unending  heydey  —  at  least,  not  until  July  comes. 
He  has  his  cares  and  troubles,  like  all  other  mortals; 
and  one  of  the  chief  of  these  is  that  he  did  not  leave 
the  farm  while  too  young  not  to  know  better,  and 
apprentice  himself  to  a  grocer  at  fifty  cents  a  week. 


THE   COLLEGE   STUDENT. 

IN  some  respects  the  college  student  is  the  eighth 
wonder  of  the  world.  While  of  merely  ordinary 
proportions  in  a  miscellaneous  crowd,  in  his  own 
proper  domain  and  sphere  he  overtops  the  great 
statue  at  Rhodes.  There  is  probably  only  one  occa- 
sion upon  which  the  college  student  realizes  his 
normal  size,  and  that  is  when  he  finds  himself  in  the 
grip  of  a  little  Milesian  policeman  with  an  abnor- 
mally developed  brogue,  and  chin-whiskers  twice  the, 
length  of  his  wits.  Culture  is  then  obliged  to  take 


THE  COLLEGE  STUDENT.  177 

a  back  seat,  while  the  embodied  majesty  of  the  law 
sits  up  with  the  driver  and  carries  the  whip. 

Besides  his  magnified  opinion  of  himself,  the  col- 
lege student  is  also  remarkable  for  his  microscopic 
distinctions  between  right  and  wrong.  The  first 
injunction  of  his  decalogue  is,  "  Thou  shalt  not  pre- 
vent my  doing  what  I  want  to  " ;  and  the  last  is, 
"  Thou  shalt  not  make  a  fool  of  thyself."  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say  that  the  student  seldom  reads  as  far 
down  the  page  as  the  tenth  commandment. 

The  college  student's  idea  of  doing  what  he  wants 
to  is  very  broad  —  very  nearly  as  comprehensive  as^ 
his  self-esteem.  It  is  rather  dangerous  to  oppose 
the  young  man  in  this  matter,  because  he  is  so 
thoroughly  and  heartily  convinced  of  the  moral 
rectitude  of  his  own  inclinations.  A  rose  by  any 
other  name  would  not  smell  -as  sweet,  this  is  the 
principle  upon  which  the  college  student's  lark  is 
conducted.  Neither  the  ethical  nor  the  sesthetical 
propriety  of  placing  an  undertaker's  sign  over  a 
doctor's  office  seems  to  .enter  into  the  calculation 
at  all. 

It  would  be  far  from  my  purpose,  however,  to 
insinuate  that  the  college  student  exists  solely  to 
perpetrate  mischief.  Ah,  no ;  that  were  a  sad  mis- 
conception —  he  exists  also  to  devise  it.  Enter  the 


178  ME  COLLEGE  STtJDEOT. 

dormitory  of  the  student  at  any  time  before  the 
witching  hour  of  midnight,  and  you  will  fin'd  him 
with  an  open  volume  spread  out  'neath  the  glimmer- 
ing light  of  his  eighty-five-cent  lamp,  laboriously 
soiling  the  margins  with  his  heels,  while  tilted  'back 
in  his  easy-chair  blowing  contemplative  clouds  of 
smoke  to  the  ceiling.  This  is  the  student's  hour  for 
study.  Deep  within  that  busy  brain,  what  mighty 
thoughts  are  moving !  Plato's  theories,  the  philoso- 
phy of  quaint  old  Socrates,  apothegms  from  Plautus, 
pastoral  visions  from  the  odes  of  Horace  —  not  one 
of  these  !  He  is  studying  the  intricate  problem  how 
to  conceal  a  wad  of  shoemaker's  wax  in  the  presi- 
dent's chair,  so  that  that  dignitary  shall  be  obliged 
to  preside  at  chapel  exercises  handicapped  by  the 
intimate  confidence  existing  between  the  *seat  of 
his  trousers  and  the  baize  cushion  of  his  chair  of 

% 

state. 

But,  after  all,  what  were  the  college  without  the 
college  student  ?  To  be  sure,  the  institution  would 
have  a  better  standing  in  the  community  where  it  is 
located  were  there  no  undergraduates  connected 
with  it,  and  it  is  highly  probable  that  the  learned 
faculty  could  do  more  good  in  the  world  by  writing 
books  and  helping  their  wives  with  the  baby,  than 
by  distributing  diplomas ;  but  still,  such  an  institu- 


MBS.  POPINJAY  AND  THE  BURGLAR.          179 

tion  would  not  be  a  real  live  college.  What  we  want 
in  this  country  are  real  live  colleges.  We  lose  half 
our  time  sleeping  nights. 


MRS.  POPINJAY  AND  THE  BURGLAR. 

SCENE  I.  — The  Popinjay's  Kitchen.    Cook,  Maid,  and  Man-of- 
all-Work.    Hour,  9  P.  M. 

COOK  [yawning]*  Oh,  now!  will  yez  shtop  pa- 
laverin'  thegither  behind  the  clooz-bars  and  go  to 
wurr.uk  ?  I'm  shure  I'm  tired  to  death  of  yer  whilly- 
wallyin's  and  smackings.  Jinny,  come  and  help  me 
to  iron  these  shirt  collars,  ye  lazy  thing.  Hinery,  go 
and  fetch  me  in  some  kindlin's,  and  tind  to  yer 
chores.  Here  it  is,  nine  o'clock,  and  ye  haven't 
done  a  blissid  thing  but  sit  and  howld  Jinny  on  yer 
lap  since  tay.  Bad  cess  to  the  both  of  yez  ! 

JENNY.  Oh,  Henery  !  let  go  my  hand,  let  go ! 
You're  squeezing  all  my  fingers  out  of  joint.  Le' 
g-o-o  !  I  .  >, 

HENRY.     Toopsy-woopsy  tiddle-de  — 
{Enter  MR.  POPINJAY.] 

MR.  POPINJAY.  What  does  all  this  noise  mean  ? 
Henry,  have  you  attended  to  the  furnace  ? 

HENRY.    No,  sir;  I  was  just —  ,.,,,.. 


ISO  MRS.   POPINJAY   AND  THE  BURGLAR. 

MR.  POPINJAY.  Have  you  bedded  down  the 
horse  ? 

HENRY.    Not  just  yet,  sir ;  but  — 

MR.  POPINJAY.  Did  you  shake  out  that  hay  for 
the  cow  that  I  told  you  to  ? 

HENRY.     I  was  going  to  the  barn,  sir,  this  — 

MR.  POPINJAY.  No!  You  were  going  to  the 
furnace.  Now,  mind ;  if  I  ever  catch  you  like  this 
again,  you  get  your  walking-ticket.  D'ye  hear. 

HENRY  [sheepishly].     Yes,  sir. 

MR.  POPINJAY  [severely].     Well! 
[Exit  MR.  POPINJAY.] 

COOK  [with  immense  satisfaction'].  How  are  yez, 
Hinery  ? 

[Exit  HENRY,  slamming  the  door]    * 

JENNY.     Oh,  now,  Bridget ! 

BRIDGET.  Well,  Miss  Jinny,  didn't  I  warrun  yez 
long  ago  ?  '/  \ , 

JENNY.    No,  you  didn't ;  it  wasn't  five  minutes  ago. 

BRIDGET.  Well,  anyways,  I  was  a-gapin'  and 
makin'  a  noise  wid  my  fut  for  two  hours. 

JENNY  [ironing].  Oh,  Biddy,  you  are  a  queer, 
old  girl !  [Sings]  Hi-did-a-tiddy-hit-a-diddy ! 

Bridget  looks  up,  uncertainly,  and  resumes  her  ironing  with  a 
thoughtful  expression.     Jenny  suddenly  drops  her  iron,  and  starts  * 
from  the  table. 


MBS.   POPINJAY  AND   THE  BURGLAR.          181 

JENNY.  Mercy !  I  forgot  to  bring  down  the 
beans  to  soak ! 

BRIDGET  [somewhat  bewildered].     Whatsook? 

JENNY.     The  beans ;  for  breakfast. 

BRIDGET.  Oh,  the  banes,  ye  mane !  Run  up  in 
the  storeroom,  like  a  good  gurrul,  and  bring  down  a 
quart  av  'em. 

[Exit  JENNY;   but  presently  returns  with  headlong 
haste,  and  no  beans. 

BRIDGET.    Jinny,  what  is  the  matter  av  ye  ? 

JENNY.  Oh !  oh !  there  was  a  mouse  —  a  great 
big  —  O-o-h  o-o-h  ! 

BRIDGET.  A  mouse?  Ugh!  ugh!  Did  he  get 
up  your  skirruts,  darlin'  ? 

JENNY.  Oh!  —  don't  speak  of  it.  He  ran  one 
way,  and  I  ran  the  other.  Oh,  Henery,  how  you 
scairt  me  ! 

[HENRY  passes  sullenly  through  the  room,  and  goes 
down  cellar. ~\ 

Biddy,  dear,  won't  you  go  up  with  me  for  the 
beans  ? 

BRIDGET.     Hinery  — 

JENNY.  Oh,  Henery  won't  do  anything.  He's 
mad. 

BRIDGET.    Well,  darlin',  I  will  go  up  wid  yez, 


182  MRS.   POPINJAY  AND   THE  BURGLAR. 

and  carry  the  cat  under  me  arrum.  Kitty,  kitty ; 
come,  kitty!  Now,  be  jabers,  we'll  see  if  the 
mouse  '11  go  up  our  skirruts,  Jinny ! 

Jenny  and  Bridget  go  upstairs  to  the  storeroom.  Bridget 
marches  in  first,  with  the  cat;  Jenny  tiptoes  to  the  bag  of  beans, 
holding  up  her  skirts  with  one  hand. 

BRIDGET.     Have  ye  got  the  banes,  Jinny  ? 

JENNY.     Yes,  I've  got  'em ;  come  I 

BRIDGET.     Did  }^e  see  the  mouse,  Jinny  ? 

JENNY.    No,  not  yet.     Come  ! 

BRIDGET.  Well,  now,  that's  too-  bad !  Jinny  ^ 
sh'pose  we  la've  the  cat  here  all  night  to  catch  the 
thafe?  Would  the  misthriss  be  displased,  think  yez? 

JENNY.     Oh,  I  guess  not.     Come  ! 

BRIDGET.  Kitty,  bedad,  now  kape  still  and  catch 
the  thafe  o'  the  wurruld. 

Bridget  places  the  purring  cat  on  the  floor;  the  girls  go  silently 
out,  closing  the  door,  and  return  to  the  kitchen. 

SCENE  II.  —  Sleeping  apartment  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Popinjay,  at 
the  end  of  the  hall  leading  to  the  storeroom.  Hour,  midnight. 
Snoring.  Suddenly  a  terrible  crash  echoes  through  the  house. 
Mrs.  Popinjay  jumps  from  her  pillow  with  a  scream.  Mr. 
Popinjay  emits  a  gurgling  snort,  and  turns  over. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.     Socrates !     /Socrates  !  t 
MR.  POPINJAY  [indistinctly'].     Whajewa  — 
\The  sound  blends  with  a  snore.^ 


MRS.   POPINJAY   AND   THE  BURGLAR.          183 
* 

MRS.  POPINJAY.    Socrates !  Socrates  !  wake  up ! 
[She  punches  him.'] 

MR.  POPINJAY.     Whasmatter?  whajewant? — 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Sh !  sh !  There's  a  'burglar  in 
the  house.  Didn't  you  hear  him  break  through  the 
window  ? 

MR.  POPINJAY.    Burglar,  eh?    Whajeburgl-wa — 

[MR.  POPINJAY  resumes  his  dream.'] 

MRS.  POPINJAY  [shaking  him"}.  Socrates,  didn't 
you  hear  that  awful  crash  ? 

MR.  POPINJAY.  Awful  crash,  eh?  Heardsumf- 
tumblecatsumf —  [Snores.] 

MRS.  POPINJAY  [in  a  terrible  whisper].  Socrates 
K.  Popinjay  ! 

MR.  POPINJAY.     Oh,  hum  —  whajewant,  anyway? 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Are  you  a  man,  or  are  you  a 
log,  Socrates  Popinjay  ?  I  tell  you  there  is  a  burglar 
in  the  house  !  I  heard  him  break  through  the  win- 
dow. I  can  hear  him  prowling  around  now.  There 
—  listen ! 

Some  rustling  sounds  are  beard  from  the  direction  of  the  store- 
room. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Quick,  Socrates !'  Get  up  and 
speak  to  him.  He  will  steal  all  our  new  silver,  and 
murder  every  one  of  us ! 


184  MES.   POPINJAY   AND   THE  BUBGLAB. 

MB.  POPINJAY  [now  thoroughly  awake] .  I  —  I 
guess  it'll  be  just  as  well  for  us  to  stay  in  bed.  I  — 
I  guess  he  won't  find  the  silver. 

MBS.  POPINJAY.  Socrates  Popinjay!  are  you 
afraid  ? 

MB.  POPINJAY.  Keep  still  —  keep  still,  can't  you! 
He's  coming  this  way. 

MBS.  POPINJAY.  Socrates  Popinjay,  I'm  ashamed 
of  you,  I  am.  [Aloud.]  Ahem  !  ahem!  I'll  let  him 
know  that  somebody's  awake  here,  anyway.  [A 
dead  silence  prevails."]  There,  now,  I  know  he's 
gone  downstairs  after  the  silver.  Oh,  Socrates,  are 
you  a  man  ? 

MB.  POPINJAY  [reassured].  Pshaw!  I  tell  you 
it's  only  the  cat.  Lie  down,  and  go  to  sleep. 

MBS.  POPINJAY.  The  cat!  Mr.  Popinjay,  the 
cat  is  shut  down  cellar  every  night. 

MB.  POPINJAY.    Well,  then,  it  was  a  mouse. 

MBS.  POPINJAY.  A  mouse  !  How  could  a  mouse 
make  such  a  crash  as  that  ?  There  —  hark  !  I 
know  that  is  the  silver  rattling.  Mr.  Popinjay,  if 
you  don't  get  up  and  put  on  your  trousers  and  go 
downstairs,  /shall  do  it,  mind  you ! 

MB.  POPINJAY.     Oh,  come  now ;  don't  be  foolish. 

MBS.  POPINJAY.  Mr.  Popinjay,  are  you  going  to 
get  up,  or  are  you  not  ? 


MRS.  POPINJAY  AND  THE  BURGLAR.          185 

MB.  POPINJAY.  I  am  not,  Mrs.  Popinjay.  I 
don't  propose  to  traipse  around  the  house  in  my 
night  clothes  and  catch  my  death  of  cold  because 
the  cat  is  loose,  mind  you  that ! 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Well,  then,  Mr.  Popinjay,  you 
may  stay  in  bed.  I  have  my  opinion  of  you. 

Mrs.  Popinjay  crawls  out  of  bed,  and  gropes  around  for  the 
matches.  Finds  them,  and  lights  a  small  hand  lamp.  Goes  out 
into  the  hall,  and  creeps  slowly  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  The 
carpet  makes  aii  intolerable  rustling  under  her  bare  feet. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.    Ahem  !  ahem  ! 

MR.  POPINJAY.     Better  come  back  to  bed  ! 

No  answer.  Presently  the  sound  of  the  cautious  feet  is  heard  on 
the  stairs.  In  a  few  moments  there  is  silence,  and  then  another 
ahem  !  —  this  time  very  much  feebler,  and  less  aggressive.  Soon 
the  rustling  steps  are  heard  again,  —  returning. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.     Socrates,  he's  down  there  ! 

MR.  POPINJAY.  Well,  why  didn't  you  go  ahead, 
then? 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Go  ahead,  you  great  cowardly 
man !  Let's  see  you  get  up  and  go  as  far  as  the 
head  of  the  stairs. 

MR.  POPINJAY.  I  don't  propose  to  get  up  at  all, 
Mrs.  Popinjay.  I  ain't  quite  so  big  a  fool  as  you 
are.  Coming  back  to  bed  ? 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Yes,  sir,  I  am  coming  back  to 
bed.  The  burglar  can  have  all  the  silver  in  the 


186          MRS.  POPINJAY   AND  THE  BURGLAR. 

house  for  aught  of  me.  /  haven't  got  to  pay  for  a 
new  set.  Huh !  tell  me  you  aren't  frightened ! 
Your  face  is  as  white  as  the  pillow. 

Mr.  Popinjay  quickly  turns  his  back  to  his  wife,  with  a  con- 
temptuous sneer.  She  sets  her  lamp  down  on  a  chair  near  the 
door,  turns  it,  as  she  supposes,  quite  out,  and  then  crawls  into  bed 
and  covers  up  her  head.  Both  lie  and  listen  intently  for  some 
minutes.  Finally  a  board  creaks  out  in  the  hall — as  boards  will 
after  they  have  been  trodden  on  in  the  night.  Mrs.  Popinjay  can- 
not resist  the  horrible  fascination.  She  uncovers  her  head,  and 
looks  out.  There,  right  in  the  doorway,  appears  to  her  distended 
eyes  a  slender  gleam  of  light,  like  that  escaping  from  a  dark- 
lantern."  A  terrific  scream  causes  Mr.  Popinjay's  blood  to  freeze 
in  his  veins. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Oh,  Socrates,  Socrates !  help  • 
He  is  coming  into  the  room ! 

Mr.  Popinjay  tears  himself  from  his  wife's  grasp,  rolls  out 
upon  the  floor,  and  crawls  precipitately  under  the  bed. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Oh,  Mr.  Burglar  !  Mr.  Burglar ! 
Please  go  away !  You  can  have  all  the  silver  in  the 
house,  and  there's  lots  of  money  in  the  desk  in. the 
library.  .Only  please,  please  spare  our  lives !  Oh, 
please,  dear  Mr.  Burglar.  Oh,  c?o,  now.  Don't  kill 
us,  Mr.  Burglar ! 

The  faint  flicker  of  light  continues  immovable;  sullenly,  re- 
flectively immovable.  Mrs.  Popinjay  renews  her  supplications, 
and  keeps  them  up  for  several  minutes.  Then  she  subsides,  and 
wonders  why  the  light  doesn't  move.  Finally,  it  seems  to  her 
that  it  is  rather  low  down  for  a  burglar  to  carry  a  dark-lantern- 
Could  it  be  —  can  it  be  —  the  thought  is  heavenly!  A  sickening 


MRS.   POPINJAY   AND  THE   BURGLAR.  187 

smell  of  charred  wick  fills  the  room.  Mrs.  Popinjay  puts  one  foot 
out  of  bed  —  the  light  does  not  stir;  she  puts  two  out — it  is  still 
stationary.  Then  she  rises,  gropes  toward  it,  puts  her  hand 
upon  it. 

MRS.   POPINJAY.      It  is  —  it  is  my  own  lamp, 

Socrates ! 

SCENE  III  —  The  kitchen.  Very  early  in  the  morning.  The  Cook 
pouring  kerosene  oil  on  the  kindlings  in  the  stove.  Enter  MRS. 
POPINJAY,  very  pale,  in  a  wrapper. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Oh,  Bridget,  you  don't  know 
what  a  scare  I  had  last  night ! 

BRIDGET.  A  scare,  ma'm?  Who  scared  yez, 
ma'm  ? 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Why,  a  burglar  broke  a  win- 
dow and  got  into  the  house,  and  such  a  racket  you 
never  heard  in  your  life.  But  he  didn't  take  a 
thing.  I've  been  all  around,  and  can't  find  a  thing 
missing.  I  must  have  frightened  him  away.  I  got 
up  in  the  night,  Bridget,  and  went  half  way  down- 
stairs after  him ! 

BRIDGET.  Oh,  ma'm,  how  brave !  But  did  yez 
foind  the  broken  windy? 

MRS.  POPINJAY.     I  declare !     I  didn't  think  to 
look.    33 ut  I  will  go  now,  Bridget. 
[Returns  presently.] 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  There  isn't  a  broken  window 
in  the  house ! 


188  MRS.   POPINJAY  AND   THE   BURGLAR. 

BRIDGET  \fromforce  of  habit"].  It  must  have  been 
the' cat,  ma'm. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  The  cat?  I  thought  the  cat 
was  shut  down  cellar  every  night? 

[Bridget  regrets  exceedingly  having  spoken."] 

BRIDGET.  Oh,  ma'm,  I  must  be  afther  makin'  a 
little  opology,  ma'm.  It  was  mesilf  and  Jinny  shut 
the  cat  into  the  stoorroom  lasht  night,  to  catch  a 
great  big  thafe  of  a  mouse,  ma'm  ;  and,  be  the  howly 
prophets,  I  niver  thought  of  her  again  till  this  very 
minute,  ma'm ! 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  The  cat  in  the  storeroom? 
How  dared  you,  without  my  permission !  Oh,  that 

accounts  for  it  —  that  accounts  for  it. 

i 

Mrs.  Popinjay  runs  hastily  upstairs,  followed  by  Bridget,  im- 
precating and  wringing  her  hands.  They  open  the  door,  and  out 
walks  the  cat,  purring,  with  upright  tail  and  every  indication  of 
extreme  satisfaction.  Under  one  of  the  shelves  lies  a  large  platter, 
smashed  into  a  dozen  bits,  and  near  it  the  broken  pieces  of  a 
student-lamp  shade. 

MRS.  POPINJAY.  Oh,  kitty,  kitty!  you  little 
realize  the  cost  of  what  you  have  done  this  night. 
It  has  shortened  my  life  by  many  years,  I  know,  and 
sprinkled  your  dear  master's  head  with  gray ! 

BRIDGET  [weeping'] .  Oh,  ye  thafe  of  the  wurruld, 
ye  thafe  of  the  wurruld ! 


THE  GREAT  RALLY. 

ME.    POPINJAY     ASTONISHES     HIS     FELLOW-CITIZENS 
BY  HIS   REMARKABLE   ORATORICAL  GIFTS. 

ONE  morning,  when  Mr.  Popinjay  came  down  to 
breakfast,  it  was  observed  that  his  stand-up 
collar  was  adorned  with  two  neckties  —  underneath, 
a  black  cravat  tied  in  a  double  bow,  and  over  that 
a  yellow  tailor-made  scarf.  A  ripple  of  amusement 
ran  around  the  assembled  family,  but  Mr.  Popinjay 
was  so  absorbed  in  thought  that  he  did  not  seem  to 
notice  it.  At  last  Mrs.  Popinjay  slyly  remarked,  — 

"  Socrates,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  rather 
overdressed,  this  morning." 

Mr.  Popinjay  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  How  so  ?  " 
he  asked,  surveying  his  apparel  with  a  hasty  glance. 
"  I'm  wearing  my  ordinary  business  suit."  ,  " 

"  Yes,"  tittered  Angelina,  "  but  you've  got  on 
two  neckties  —  Tie,  he,  he  !  " 

A  sheepish  smile  stole  across  Mr.  Popinjay's  face, 
as  he  put  up  his  hand  and  found  that  it  was  indeed 
as  his  daughter  said. 

"  What  makes  you  so  absent-minded  lately,  Soc- 


190  THE  CHEAT1  RALLY. 

rates?"  asked  Mrs.  Popinjay,  as  her  husband  removed 
the  yellow  scarf  and  dropped  it  under  the  table. 
"  Only  yesterday  I  sent  you  out  to  fix  up  the 
clothes-lines,  and  you  walked  half  a  mile  to  Mrs. 
Rollins's  and  borrowed  some  butter.  There  must 
be  something  on  your  mind." 

"Well,  yes,  there  is,"  confessed  Mr.  Popinjay. 
"I  have  been  invited  by  the  Republican  Club  of 
Buttonville  to  deliver  an  address  at  the  big  rally, 
next  week.  This  is  election  year,  you  know,  and 
the  campaign  is  going  to  be  a  hot  one.  I  have 
been  thinking  over  my  speech  for  the  past  fort- 
night, and  guess  I  shall  begin  to  write  it  out  to- 
night. So  you  must  all  keep  away  from  the  library 
and  not  disturb  me  in  any  way.  —  And,  Angelina/' 
added  Mr.  Popinjay,  "  if  your  young  man  comes  to- 
night, I  wish  you  would  tell  him  that  your  father 
is  engaged  upon  a  literary  matter  of  deep  impor- 
tance, and  if  he  would  be  willing  to  keep  off  that 
creaky  sofa  for  a  few  evenings,  it  would  be  a  great 
accommodation."  Mr.  Popinjay  spoke  seriously,  but 
Angelina's  face  was  suffused  with  blushes,  and  she 
made  no  audible  reply. 

It  was  remarkable  how  quiet  the  house  kept 
during  the  week  while  Mr.  Popinjay  was  compos- 
ing his  great  speech.  Everybody  walked  on  tiptoe 


THE   GREAT  RALLY?. 


191 


and  closed  the  doors  as  softly  as  though  it  was  a 
case  of  life  and  death.  Angelina's  young  man  came 
as  usual  th,e  first  evening,  but  his  stay  was  quiet  and 
brief,  and  after  that  his  visits  were  discontinued 


entirely  for  about-  ten  days  (which  shows  that 
the  average  young  lady  in  love  is  not  so  selfish 
a  creature  as  some  people  suppose). 

At  last  the  speech  was  completed,  and  Mr.  Popin- 
jay began  to  look  and  act  more  like  himself.     A 


.      THE  GfcEAT  RALLY. 

large  ink  spot  on  the  left  side  of  his  nose  gradually 
faded  out,  and  the  far-away  expression  in  his  eyes 
slid  down  to  a  focus  not  more  than  a  thousand  miles 
distant.  The  family  began  to  brighten  up  and  talk 
in  their  natural  voices  again ;  and  one  day  Ange- 
lina's young  man  walked  four  times  past  the  house, 
as  though  looking  for  a  signal. 

On  the  morning  of  the  great  day  when  the  rally 
was  to  come  off,  Mr.  Popinjay  was  so  agitated  that 
he  could  not  go  down  to  the  office.  He  accordingly 
despatched  Tom  with  a  note  to  Mr.  Hopstock,  stat- 
ing that  his  speech  would  require  his  undivided 
attention  that  day,  and  retired  to  the  library, 
where  he  alternately  paced  up  and  down,  reciting 
passages  from  the  oration,  and  smoking  cigars  to 
quiet  his  nerves. 

"  Do  you  think  we  had  better  attend  the  rally, 
Socrates  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Popinjay,  at  dinner. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  the  orator.  "  It  would  not 
look  well  for  you  to  stay  away.  I  want  every  mem- 
ber of  the  family  to  be  there  early ;  and  it  would  be 
best,  I  think,  for  all  of  you  to  sit  together  in  one  of 
the  front  seats." 

"  But  wouldn't  it  emb ."  Tom  Popinjay  con- 
cluded not  to  finish  the  sentence. 

Promptly  at  half -past  seven  o'clock,  the  Popinjays* 


GKEAT  RALLY.  193 

With  the  exception  of  the  orator  —  who  had  started 
an  hour  previously,  without  eating  a  bit  of  supper 
—  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  Town  Hall.  After 
looking  over  the  ground,  Augustus  spied  an  unoc- 
cupied seat  very  near  the  front,  and  they  all  filed 
into  it.  At  a  quarter  of  eight  the  Buttonville  Brass 
Band  marched  on  the  stage,  taking  seats  at  the  ex- 
treme left.  Then  from  the  anteroom  came  the  offi- 
cers of  the  Republican  Club,  the  orators  of  the 
evening,  and  "  distinguished  citizens,"  all  of  whom 
took  seats  at  the  centre  and  rear  of  the  stage. 

When  all  were  comfortably  settled,  the  band 
struck  up,  "  Hail  Columbia,"  and  a  very  serious 
matter  they  made  of  it,  nearly  every  musician,  be- 
ing bathed  in  perspiration  at  the  completion  of 
the  piece.  The  trombone  player,  who  came  out 
about  half  a  bar  behind  the  others,  was  so  ex- 
hausted with  the  manipulation  of  his  long  instru- 
ment that  he  could  hardly  swallow  the  glass  of 
water  which  was  hastily  procured  for  him  by  the 
leader  of  the  band. 

The  president  of  the  Club  then  stepped  forward 
to  the  table  and  said:  "Ladies  and  gentlemen  of 
Buttonville  (Mrs.  Popinjay  and  Angelina  were 
the  only  ladies  present) :  I  thank  you,  in  behalf 
of  the  organization,  of  which  I  am  the  honored 


194 


THE  GREAT   BALLY. 


representative  —  I  should  say,  which  I  Nhave  the 
honor  to  represent,  for  your  attendance  here  this 
evening.  As  you  all  know,  we  are  on  the  verge 
of  a  great  struggle.  (Here  Mr.  Popinjay  mopped 
his  brow.)  In  a  few  months  the  momentous  ques- 


tion  is  -to  be  decided,  as  to  which  of  the  two  leading 
parties  shall  control  the  offices  and  'distribute  the 
patronage  of  this  great  and  glorious  republic.  We 
believe  that  the  Republican  party  is  the  party  of 
great  ideas,  the  party  of  reform  and  of  progress. 


GREAT  BALLY.  195 


Consequently,  we  should  like  to  see  a  Republican 
president  in  the  White  House  at  Washington  -  " 

(Voice  :  "  And  a  Republican  postmaster  in  But- 
tonville  !  "  Loud  applause.) 

"Yes,  and  a  Republican  postmaster  in  Button- 
ville.  We  should  like  to  see  the  public  service 
purged  and  reconstructed.  The  Democratic  ad- 
ministration has  been  a  disgrace  to  the  country. 
We  have  been  steadily  going  down  hill  for  the 
past  four  years,  and  unless  something  is  done 
about  it  this  fall,  the  whole  country  is  sure  to 
plunge  into  the  gulf  of  ruin.  The  crisis  approaches. 
The  battle  will  be  a  terrific  one,  but  if  every  Repub- 
lican in  the  country  does  his  duty,  victory  must 
perch  upon  our  banner.  It  is  the  object  of  the  But- 
tonville  Republican  Club  to  kindle  and  keep  alive, 
the  fire  of  —  of  —  party  spirit  in  the  bosoms  of  the 
Republican  voters  of  this  town.  We  trust  that  the 
distinguished  gentlemen  who  have  consented  to 
address  you  to-night  will  inflame  you  all  with  zeal 
for  the  great  cause  represented  by  the  Republi- 
can party  in  this  campaign.  And  now  I  will  not 
longer  detain  you  with  preliminary  remarks,  but  will 
introduce  to  you  the  Honorable  —  I  beg  pardon  ! 
The  leader  of  the  band  calls  my  attention  to  the 
fact  that  a  cornet  solo  is  next  on  the  programme. 


196  THE   GHEAO?  EALLY. 

Mr.  Colby,  the  leader  of  our  excellent  brass  band, 
will  now  favor  the  audience  with  a  cornet  solo." 

Mr.  Colby  stepped  forward,  with  his  cornet  in  his 
left  hand,  bowed  to  the  audience,  and  then,  turning 
to  his  fellow-musicians,  beat  time  while  they  strug- 
gled through  the  preliminary  measures  of  the  com- 
position and  approached  the  comparatively  easy  ac- 
companiment. Suddenly  the  leader  wheeled  around, 
clapped  the  cornet  to  his  mouth,  expanded  his 
bosom,  and  blew  a  note  which  made  the  very 
rafters  vibrate.  After  clinging  to  this  note  until 
his  face  was  as  red  as  a  beet,  Mr.  Colby  gradually 
began  to  reel  off  from  it,  as  from  a  spool,  the  melody 
of  "  Home,  Sweet  Home."  First  he  performed^  the 
simple  air  from  beginning  to  end.  Then  he  took  it 
up  again  and  began  to  decorate  it  with  a  few  grace 
notes,  trills,  and  other  modest  adornments.  Then  he 
snatched  a  longer  breath  and  began  to  deliver  the 
text  in  its  classical  simplicity  with  a  running  dis- 
quisition and  foot-notes,  almost  as  elaborate  as. the 
accompaniment  of  the  entire  band.  Finally,  he  con- 
centrated all  his  energies,  distended  his  cheeks  to 
their  utmost  capacity,  gripped  his  instrument  with 
the  grip  of  desperation,  and  commenced  to  weave 
all  the  melodic  web  and  woof  which  had  gone 
before  into  a  most  bewilderingly  complicated  tex- 


THE  GREAT  RALLY.  197 

ture  of  sound  —  so  complicated,  in  fact,  that  not 
only  the  chief  musician,  but  also  the  band  and  the 
audience,  became  entangled  in  its  meshes  and  lost 
track  of  the  theme  altogether.  After  tum-tumming 
discordantly  for  a  few  minutes  longer,  the  band 
stopped  playing,  and  presently,  the  soloist  himself 
came  down  like  a  stick,  leaving  the  air  full  of  demi- 
semi  quavers,  grace  notes,  trills,  forty-second  notes, 
and  other  pyrotechnic  musical  phenomena.  Never- 
theless, Mr.  Colby  was  applauded  to  the  echo,  and 
retired  to  his  seat  covered  with  smiles,  and  beads  of 
perspiration. 

As  soon  as  the  sound  of  clapping  and  stamping 
had  ceased,  the  president  of  the  Club  again  advanced 
to  the  table,  and  succeeded  in  introducing  to  the 
audience  "  The  Honorable  Mr.  Partridge,  member  of 
the  State  Legislature  from  Hucklebury,  who  will 
now  address  you." 

The  Hon.  Mr.  Partridge,  who  was  a  tall,  spare 
man,  with  a  clean-shaven  face,  and  whose  voice 
appeared  to  be  drawn  up  by  hydraulic  suction  from 
his  boot  heels,  addressed  the  assembly  for  an  hour 
and  fifteen  minutes;  and  as  what  he  didn't  say 
about  the  future  of  this  republic,  the  politics  of  this 
nation,  and  the  great  underlying  principles  of  human 
society  would  hardly  be  worth  repeating  here,  no 


198  THE  GREAT  KALLY. 

attempt  will  be  made  to  do  so.  When  the  orator 
finally  did  sit  down,  the  building  fairly  rocked  with 
acclamation,  and  the  president  of  the  Club  himself 
stamped  with  such  enthusiasm  that  for  half  an  hour 
afterward  it  was  plain  to  see,  by  the  expression 
of  his  face,  that  he  felt  like  a  victim  of  the  chill- 
blains.  * 

The  next  speaker  was  Colonel  Connor,  of  Paines- 
borough.  The  colonel  was  one  of  those  quiet,  inof- 
fensive, intensely  civilian-looking  persons  whom  a 
military  title  fits  about  as  well  as  a  Winchester  rifle 
would  fit  a  Quaker.  Nobody  knew  where  he  had 
obtained  the  title  of  colonel,  and  it  is  doubtful  if 
Mr.  Connor  himself  did.  It  was  probably  conferred 
upon  him  by  some  sarcastic  newspaper  reporter,  and 
ever  afterwards  clung  to  his  reputation,  as  a  sort  of 
burr,  which  he  did  not  know  whether  to  pick  off 
or  not. 

Colonel  Connor  made  a  much  better  speech  than 
the  Honorable  Mr.  Partridge  ;  but  as  he  did  not  seem 
to  think  so  himself,  the  audience  politely  accepted 
his  own  estimate  of  the  effort,  and  did  not  enthuse. 
He  sat  down,  in  the  midst  of  some  feeble  and  inter- 
mittent clapping,  and  the  president  again  started 
forward. 

"  I  now  have  the  pleasure,"  he  said,  "  of  intro- 


THE  GREAT  KALLY.  199 

ducing  to  the  audience  a  gentleman  who  needs  no 
introduction  in  this  community,  one  of  our  most 
distinguished  and  honored  citizens;  a  man  of  the 
highest  business  ability,  combined  with  the  most 
ardent  patriotism.  I  have  the  great  pleasure  of  pre- 
senting to  you  Mr.  Socrates  Popinjay,  Esq.,  of  the 
firm  of  Popinjay  &  Hopstock." 

Mr.  Popinjay,  who  was  by  this  time  in  such  a 
whirl  of  excitement  and  perturbation  that  he  could 
hardly  remember  the  initials  of  his  own  name, 
disengaged  himself  from  his  chair,  and  came  for- 
ward. Again  the  building  tottered  with  applause, 
and  Mr.  Popinjay  was  obliged  to  bow  twice  before 
the  uproar  ceased ;  and  even  then  Augustus  Pop^ 
in  jay  came  very  near  starting  it  up  again. 

The  orator  looked  down  upon  the  sea  of  expectant, 
upturned  faces,  out  of  which  stood,  like  animated 
exclamation  points,  the  countenances  of  the  mem- 
bers of  hi's  own  family.  It  seemed  to  Mr.  Popinjay 
that  he  had  never  before  beheld,  with  so  clear  and 
penetrating  vision,  the  various  editions  of  himself 
there  represented. 

As  her  husband  came  forward,  Mrs.  Popinjay's 
first  thought  was,  "  Is  it  possible  that  Socrates  has 
on  his  own  boots?  "  And  her  second,  "I  declare,  he 
has  forgotten  one  of  his  cuffs  !  " 


200  THE  GEEAT   KALLY. 

"  Doesn't  he  logk  scared,  though ! "  was  Tom's 
mental  comment.  "  Who  would  have  thought  it?" 

"  Fellow  citizens,  and  loyal  Republicans  of  Button- 
ville,"  began  Mr.  Popinjay,  in  a  voice  which  he 
hardly  recognized  himself.  It  was  his  first  appear- 
ance as  an  orator,  upon  any  stage,  and  he  felt  as 
agitated  and  out  of  place  as  a  potato-bug  on  a  hot 
shovel.  "We  are  assembled  here  to-night  for  the 
purpose  of  —  in  order  that  —  We  are  assembled,  I 
say,  to  — " 

Here  Mr.  Popinjay  stopped,  and  looked  with  an 
agonized  expression  at  his  family. 

Augustus  couldn't  stand  the  appealing  glance, 
and  almost  before  he  knew  it  he  had  suggested, 
aloud,  — 

"  To  talk  politics." 

An  expression  of  profound  relief  and  gratitude 
came  into  Mr.  Popinjay's  face,  and  he  resumed : 
"  Yes,  fellow-citizens,  we  are  assembled  here  to-night 
to  talk  politics.  The  American  eagle,  which  you  see 
perched  above  yonder  furled  flags,  represents  —  rep- 
resents —  ah  —  er  —  the  —  the  — " 

"  The  work  of  the  taxidermist  Hovey,"  interpo- 
lated a  voice  in  the  audience,  which  only  those  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  knew  proceeded  from  that 
enterprising  and  thrifty  artist  himself. 


THE  GREAT  RALLY.  201 

"Represents,"  continued  Mr.  Popinjay,  with  a 
mechanical  flourish,  "  the  work  of  the  taxidermist 
Hovey.  No  loftier  cause  could  inspire  the  patriot 
and  the  lover  of  his  country  than  the  purification  of 
the  public  service  and  the  protection  of  the  ballot 
against  —  against —  And  the  protection  of  the 
ballot,  I  say,  against — " 

"  Against  women  ?  "  queried  the  president  of  the 
club,  in  an  agitated  whisper. 

"Against  women.  We,  the  members  of  the  Re- 
publican party,  have  a  sublime  mission  to  perform  in 
this  respect.  We  stand  directly  in  line  with  that 
long  succession  of  statesmen,  soldiers,  and  patriots 
whose  names  have  in  past  times  adorned  our  —  our 
—  adorned  our  — " 

"Tax  lists,"  murmured  the  town  clerk,  who  sat 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  orator. 

"Whose  names  have  in  past  times  adorned  our 
tax  lists.  Therefore  it  behooves  us  to  acquit  our- 
selves like  men  in  the  approaching  struggle.  The 
great  principles  of  national  unity,  civil  service  re- 
form, protection  of  infant  industries,  and  temperance 
must  be  supported  if  —  if  —  must  be  supported 
if—" 

"  If  it  takes  a  leg !  "  yelled  a  small  boy  on  the 
back  seat. 


202  THE  GKEAT  RALLY. 

"  If  it  takes  a  leg,"  repeated  Mr.  Popinjay.  "  Fel- 
low citizens,  we  are  to  determine  by  our  ballots 
whether  or  not  the  Constitution  of  these  United 
States  stands  or  falls  within  the  next  twenty-five 
years.  If  the  Democratic  party  remains  in  power, 
our  doom  is  certain.  But  I  trust  that  the  glo- 
rious old  Republican  party  will  rise  from  her  ashes 
like  the  --  like  the  fabled  sphinx,  and  resume  her  — 
and  resume  her — will  rise  from  her  —  the  glorious 
old  Republican  party  will  rise  from  her  —  I  trust, 
I  say,  that  the  — " 

Here  Mr.  Popinjay  gave  up  the  struggle,  and 
retired  to  his  seat  amidst  thunders  of  applause, 
which  did  not  cease  until  the  orator  had  risen 
and  bowed  his  acknowledgments.  The  exercises  of 
the  evening  then  closed  with  another  severe  ordeal 
for  the  band,  and  the  audience  dispersed. 

Mr.  Popinjay  joined  his  family  at  the  door,  and 
they  all  walked  together  in  silence  until  they  had 
nearly  reached  the  corner,  when  Mr.  Popinjay 
suddenly  said,  — 

"  I  would  give  a  hundred-dollar  bill  to  be  kicked 
into  the  middle  of  next  Christmas !  " 

No  one  answered  a  word,  for  Mr.  Popinjay's  feel- 
ings were  such  as  deserved  respect.  As  they 
reached  the  front  gate  of  their  home,  Mr.  Popinjay's 


COURTING.  203 

anguished  spirit  again  broke  forth,  and  he  exclaimed, 
fiercely,  — 

"If  anybody  ever  comes  to  ask  me  to  make 
a  speech  again,  I  will  make  him  wish  that  he 
had  been  born  a  wooden  Indian  !  " 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  "  said  Mrs.  Popinjay,  soothingly. 
"  I  don't  believe  that  any  one  will  ever  come." 


COURTING. 

IT  happened  in  this  wise.  Feeling  in  a  very 
sociable  mood  on  a  certain  evening,  I  arrayed  myself 
in  doeskin  and  stiff  linen,  and  set  out  to  make  a 
call  upon  a  lady  —  who,  by-the-way,  is  about  twenty- 
two  years  my  senior. 

Now,  I  did  not  know,  of  course,  that  Wednesday 
was  the  very  evening  when  this  dear  lady's  sweet 
daughter  entertained  her  adorable  admirer,  so  I 
was  not  to  blame  for  what  followed.  Well,  I  was 
directed  to  take  a  seat  in  the  front  parlor  —  which 
was  as  dark  as  Tophet,  by-the-way  —  while  the  maid 
bore  my  card  upstairs  to  her  mistress. 

Just  as  I  subsided  into  a  dark-colored  easy-chair 
in  the  extremest  twilight  corner  of  the  apartment,  I 
distinctly  heard  a  twitch  at  the  door-bell  —  a  pecu- 


204  COURTING. 

liar  twitch,  with  a  sort  of  personal  inflection  to  it, 
as  you  might  say  —  a  "  Duckie-this-is-I-come-to-the- 
door-yourself  "  kind  of  twitch.  I  knew  in  a  minute 
that  it  was  Bessie's  young  man;  for,  don't  you 
know,  I  had  been  there  myself  when  I  was  —  yes, 
when  /was  in  love  with  Bessie ! 

A  sort  of  prophetic  tremor  ran  through  all  my 
bones,  and  my  heart  began  to  drum  against'  my 
sounding  shirt-bosom  till  it  made  the  diamond  stud 
rattle.  My  first  impulse,  was  to  dodge  out  into  the 
hall,  and  get  behind  an  overcoat  on  the  hat-rack. 
But  hark !  —  the  quick,  palpitating  rustle  of  a  girl's 
summer  evening  drapery  fell  upon  my  ear,  and  pres- 
ently the  patter  of  little  feet  on  the  rugs  in  the  hall ; 
and  then  a  swift,  gauzy  vision  glided  by  the  half- 
open  door,  and  a  moment  later  the  red  gaslight 
glared  upon  the  rugs  in  the  hall,  and  — 

Smack  !   s-m-a-c-k !   c-1-i-i-i-n-g ! 

Talk  about  peaches  and  cream !  talk  about  honey ! 
talk  about  anything  you  please  —  that  kiss  would 
make  sawdust  of  ambrosia !  I  actually  caught 
myself  smacking  my  lips  in  the  dark  for  very  sym- 
pathy, the  deliciousness  of  it  was  so  superabundant 
and  all-pervading. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come,  Charlie !  " 

"  Are  you,  duckie  ?    Well,  so  am  I." 


COURTING.  205 

(Gurgle-gurgle  —  smack !) 

"  Come,  now  —  come  right  into  the  parlor.  I've 
got  so  much  to  tell  you.  Don't  stop  to  fix  your  hair. 
You're  just  as  nice  as  you  can  be,  and  besides,  I'm  not 
going  to  light  the  gas,  and  mamma  has  gone  out  un- 
expectedly to  spend  the  evening." 

Horrors ! 

The  door  was  pushed  open,  and  they  came  in. 
Her  little  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow,  was  doubled  up 
and  reposed  gracefully  on  his  shoulder  ;  his  arm  was 
around  her  waist.  (My  eyes,  you  see,  were  getting 
accustomed  to  the  twilight.)  I  shrank  back  as  far 
behind  the  window  drapery  as  I  could,  and  they 
brushed  by  me  and  sat  down  on  the  big  sofa  in  the 
opposite  corner. 

For  a  moment  or  two  there  was  a  blissful  silence, 
as  they  nestled  down  together  in  the  hollow  where 
the  springs  had  given  out.  When  all  was  nicely 
settled,  and  he  had  got  a  good  staying  grip  on  the 
small  part  of  her  corsets,  she  began,  — 

"  Charlie,  have  you  got  rid  of  it  ?  " 

"  What,  darling  ?  " 

"  That  pimple  on  the  left  side  of  your  nose." 

"  Oh,  yes,  that's  gone." 

"  Goody,  goody  !  You  can  go  to  the  party  to- 
morrow night,  then,  can't  you  ?  " 


206  COUKTING. 

"Well,  yes,  I — might,  I  suppose — but  —  " 
"But  what,  dearie?" 
"  Why,  dang  it  all,  I  haven't  got  a  bid !  " 
(Drawing  back.)     "  Not   been   invited,   Charlie  I 

—  you  not  invited?     Why,  I  wouldn't   go  to   her 
hateful,  nasty  party  for  anything  !  " 

"  Wouldn't  you,  duckie,  really  ?     Then  take  that 

—  and  that  —  and  th-a-a-t ! " 

More  spasmodic  action  of  my  lips  behind  the  cur- 
tains, and  a  frantic  desire  to  steal  up  behind  and 
punch  Charlie's  head. 

"Whose  party  is  it,  anyway,  Bess?" 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Prentiss's.  Everybody's  going  to  be 
there.  I  wonder  how  in  the  world  she  happened  to 
leave  you  out,  the  hateful  thing  !  " 

"  Oh"  (with  a  sigh),  "  I  suppose  she  don't  think 
I'm  nice  enough.  I  measure  cloth,  you  know,  and  "  — 

"  Why,  what  if  you  do,  poor  fellow ! "  (There  are 
tears  in  Bessie's  eyes,  and  her  little  bare  arms  steal 
up  around  the  young  man's  neck,  and  her  soft  cheek 
is  pressed  against  his  in  the  most  exasperating  man- 
ner, to  me.)  "  It  isn't  anything  bad  to  measure 
cloth.  Why,"  —  with  a  sudden  burst  of  logic  —  "I 
wear  cloth,  and  so  does  Mrs.  Prentiss,  and  so  does 
everybody.  The  idea  of  being  so  stuck  up  —  bah  !  " 

In    my    sympathetic    indignation,   I    must    have 


207 

stirred  the  window  hangings,  for  the  girl  suddenly 
withdrew  her  arms  and  looked  around. 

"  Hark  !  Let  go,  Charlie.  Didn't  you  hear  some- 
thing ?  Do  you  suppose  anybody  is  watching  us  ?  " 

"  Oh,  pshaw,  pet,  pshaw  !  It  was  the  wind  in  the 
curtains.  Sit  still." 

"  Well,  I'm  going  to  go  and  look,  anyway." 

(Endeavors  to  rise,  but  Charlie  holds  her  back.) 

"  Fudge,  fudge !  Sit  down.  I'll  kiss  you  six 
times  if  you  don't." 

"  Well,  I  won't  then,  anyway." 

"  I  shall  kiss,  if  you  don't  behave." 

"  Kiss  away  !  " 

The  danger  passed.  By  the  time  the  six  kisses 
were  given,  with  interest,  simple  and  compound,  and 
the  principal  added  to  the  bank  account,  and  some- 
thing more  with  it,  Bessie  had  forgotten  all  about 
the  noise  in  the  curtains.  She  subsided,  panting 
and  flushed,  in  the  cavity  of  the  sofa  and  brushed 
down  her  disordered  bangs.  Silence  for  a  few 
moments. 

"  What  was  it  that  you  were  so  anxious  to  tell  me 
when  I  first  came  ?  "  asked  Charlie. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  —  about  the  party,  I  suppose. 
But  I  wouldn't  speak  of  the  hateful  thing  again  for 
five  dollars.  Oh,  say,  Charlie,  Bob .  Smith  is  going 


208  COURTING. 

to  be  there  —  the  fellow  I  met  at  the  seaside,  you 
know.  Oh,  he's  so  nice.  I  do  wish  you  knew  him." 

Stern  silence  on  the  part  of  Charles.  He  loosens 
his  arm,  and  draws  it  painfully  out  between  her 
back  and  the  back  of  the  sofa. 

"  Why,  Charlie,  what  is  the  matter  ?  Are  you 
going?" 

"Oh,  nothing  —  yes,  I  guess-I  must  be  going." 

"  Oh,  don't ;  it  isn't  nine  o'clock.  Tell  me  what 
it  is,  Charlie,*  won't  you,  please  ?  " 

They  had  advanced  into  the  middle  of  the  hall. 
It  was  quite  dark  iiow,  and  their  figures  only  made 
a  confused  blur  to  my  eyes.  But  I  could  hear  the 
young  man  twirling  his  hat  in  his  hand,  sullenly, 
defiantly. 

"  Dear  Charlie,  won't  you  tell  me  what  is  the 
matter  ?  Do  !  " 

Again  the  soft  cheek,  this  time  on  his  shoulder. 
A  moment's  glum  silence,  and  then,  — 

"  Dang  Bob  Smith  !  " 

Only  three  short  words ;  but  if  I  should  write  all 
day  I  could  not  convey  one  tithe  of  the  volume  of 
red-hot  meaning  that  was  thrown  into  them. 

"  Why,  you  aren't  jealous,  are  you,  Charlie  ?  " 

"  No !    I  ain't !  " 

Silence. 


COURTING.  209 

Charlie.  —  "  Well,  I'm  going." 
Bessie.  —  "  I'm  sorry." 

Charlie.  —  "  You  won't  take  back  what  you  said  ?  " 
Bessie.  —  "  Why  —  I  didn't  say  —  anything !  " 
Charlie.  —  "  Good-night." 
Bessie.  —  "  Good-night." 

I  heard  Bessie  crying  as  she  went  upstairs,  and  I 
stole  softly  out  at  the  front  door. 


N.  H.  Downs'  Vegetable  Balsamic  Elixir 

Is  a  positive  cure  for  Coughs,  Colds,  Croup,  Whooping-Cough, 
Catarrh,  Hoarseness,  Influenza,  Spitting  Blood,  Bronchitis, 
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Chest  and  Lungs.  As  an  Expectorant  it  has  no  equal.  Con- 
sumption has  been  cured  time  without  number  by  its  timely  use. 
It  heals  the  ulcerated  surfaces,  and  cures  when  all  all  other  rem- 
edies fail.  Fifty-six  years  of  constant  use  has  proven  its  vir- 
tues. Every  family  should  keep  it  in  the  house.  Sold  everywhere. 

Henry,  Johnson  &  Lord,  Proprietors,  Burlington,  Yt, 


Dr.  Henry  Baxter's  Mandrake  Bitters 

Are  a  sure  cure  for  Costiveness,  Biliousness,  Dyspepsia,  Indi- 
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ters. Being  tonic  and  mildly  purgative  they  purify  the  blood. 
Price  25  cents  per  bottle.  For  sale  by  all  dealers  in  medicine. 

Henry,  Johnson  &  Lord,  Proprietors,  Burlington,  Yt, 


Henry,  Johnson  &  Lord,  Proprietors  of 

For  Man  and  Beast.  The  best 
external  remedy  for  Neuralgia, 
Cramps,  Sprains,  Bruises,  Burns  and  Scalds,  Sciatica,  Backache, 
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effects  are  in  most  cases  instantaneous.  Every  bottle  warranted 
to  give  satisfaction.  Price  25  cts.  and  50  cts.  per  bottle.  Sold 
everywhere. 


ROGERS   GROUPS 


Any  one  intending  to  give 

a  Wedding  Present  should  send 

for  a  Catalogue  of  Photographic  Prints 

showing      the      different      designs      of      these 

groups.      They    vary    in   price    from 

$5.00  to  $20.00,  and  can  be  sent 

any  distance  -with  safety. 


ADDRKSS 

Rogers, 

14  WEST  I2TH  STREET,  NEW  YORK. 


STEAM      LAUNCHES ! 

Coal,  Wood  or  Oil  for  Fuel. 


STJIFLIEI 


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Launches  and 
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This  cut  represents  our  25  foot  Launch. 


Agents  for  the 

Roberts  Coil 

Boiler. 
Colt's  Disc  En- 

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A  stock  of  new 
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always  on  hand 


Estimates  furnished.     Boats  for  Passenger  and  Livery  work  furnished  at  spe- 
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OTTERSON    &    SEAMAN, 

Branchport,  N.  J.       P.  0.  Address,  Long  Branch  City,  N.  J. 


Typewriter  Headquarters, 

Is  the  best  place  to  buy  a  Writing  Machine 

of  any  make.    Instruments  shipped  with 

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^Typewriter  supplies,  attach^ 

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Whose?    Why, 

CHUBB, 


His  Rods  and  Keels  are 
I  Unexcelled ! 

He  has  an  80  page,  ILLUS- 
TRATED CATALOGUE 

devoted   entirely  to  ANGLERS'    SUPPLIES,   and    all   goods 
bought  of  him  are  warranted.     Adddress 

THOS.  H.  CHUBB,  The  Fishing  Rod  Manufacturer, 

POST    MILLS,   VERMONT. 

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THE    BEST     ILLUSTRATED     HUMOROUS    NEWSPAPER. 

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142-144  Worth  Street,  -         '  ,  -    '.        New  York. 


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p.  «.  Nfoaa,  *,* 


VI.  A.  J^oss.  zy*o»«r. 


«  "2. 

II 

— 

09 


WEBSTER'S  DICTIONARY, 


WI?fTE°NBT  S?DTEHXOUT 

A   Dictionary,    118,000  Words, 

3000  Engravings. 

A  Gazetteer  of  the  World  locat- 

ing and  describing  25,000 

places. 

A   Biographical   Dictionary   of 
nearly  10,000  Noted  Persons. 
A  Dictionary  of  Fiction  found 
3000  more  Words  and  nearly  2000  more  II-  only  in  Webster. 

lustrations  than  any  other  American   Diction-  ._T    _„    AVli,    nnnir     " 

ary.    "Invaluable  in  schools  and  families."  ALL    IN    ONE    B   >OK' 

Webster  is  Standard  Authority  in  the  Government  Printing  Office,  and  with  the 
U.  S.  Supreme  Court.  It  is  recommended  by  State  Supts.  of  Schools  of  36  states 
Published  by  G.  &  €.  MERRIAM  &  CO.,  Springfield,  Mass.  Pamphlet  free. 

Advice  to  Mothers. 

MRS.   WINSLOW'S~SOOTHING   SYRUP 

should  always  be  used  for  children  teething.  It  soothes  the  child, 
softens  the  gums,  allays  all  pain,  cures  wind  colic,  and  is  the  best 
remedy  for  diarrhoea.  Twenty-five  cents  a  bottle. 


Thirty  Years'  Successful  Experience. 

Clean  Record.    Unquestionable  Responsibility. 

GUARANTEED 
Per   Ooxit.   :MC  o  r*  t  ^  £*•  S' o 

6  PER  CENT.  GOLD    DEBENTURES. 


Tlie  Western  Farm 


Of  Lawrence,  Kan.    The  Capital  of  this  Company  is 
ONE  MILLION  OF  DOLLARS. 

It  guarantees  absolutely  the  principal  and  interest  of  its  securities 
AND  IT  HAS  A  CAPITAL  TO  MAKE  ITS  GUARANTEE  GOOD.  It 
has  invested  many  millions  of  dollars  for  Savings  Banks,  Life  Insur- 
ance Companies,  Churches,  Colleges,  Guardians  and  persons  of  large 
and  small  means,  and  not  one  of  its  investors  (and  they  number  in 
the  thousands  )  has  been  obliged  to  wait  one  day  for  interest  or  prin- 
cipal. 

Customers  have  the  benefit  of  the  wisdom  and  judgment  growing 
out  of  more  than  thirty  years'  experience  in  this  business,  not  in  some 
other  locality,  but  right  there  on  the  spot.  All  having  money  which 
they  desire  to  safely  and  profitably  invest,  are  invited  to  call  or  send 
for  circulars,  books,  etc.,  etc.,  giving  complete  history  of  these  favor- 
ite securities. 


J5L.  3j  Xj  IE  3XT  , 

Merchants  National  Bank,  _  St.  Johnsbury,  Vermont. 

Security  Investment  Co. 

INCORPOBATED.     CAPITAL,  $100,000. 

•7  i^er  Ooixt. 


GUARANTEED  WESTERN  FA1  MORTGAGES 

6  per  Cent,  Debentures  Specially  Secured, 

FISCAL  AGENT  AND  TRUSTEE,  AMERICAN  LOAN  AND  TRUST  COMPANY, 
BOSTON,   MASS. 

State,  County  and  Municipal  Bonds  Constantly  on  Hand. 

THOMAS  M.  BABSON,  President.    EDWIN  T.  WHITE,  Vice  President. 
FRANCIS  I.  MESTON,  Sec'y.     HERBERT  N.  SMITH,  Treas. 

BOARD  OF  DIRECTORS:  Jonas  H.  French,  Pres.  Cape  Ann  Granite  Co  , 
Boston;  Wm.  E.  Murdock,  of  Sampson,  Murdock  &  Co.,  Boston;  Thomas  M. 
Babson,  Asst.  City  Solicitor,  Boston;  Herbert  N.  Smith,  Boston;  Francis  I. 
Meston,  Boston;  James  C.  McVay,  Pres.  First  Nat'l  Bank;  E.  A.  Odiorne, 
oi  Cox,  Odiorne  &  Co.,  and  E.  T.  White,  Yankton,  Dakota. 

BOSTON    OFFICE,  35   CONGRESS   STREET. 


Capital,  $500,000.     Surplus,  $644,975. 

This  company  does  strictly  an  investment  business  and 
shares  with  investors  the  results  of  conservative  and  profitable 
investments.  They  offer  a  fixed  income,  large  profits,  and  abso- 
lute security.  Nearly  $200,000,000  net  profits  paid  investors  since 
1883,  fr°m  Kansas  City  (Mo.)  real  estate  investments.  At  the 
present  time  opportunity  is  offered  to  invest  in  desirable  Kansas 
City  real  estate,  secured  by  a  first  mortgage  bond,  bearing  eight 
per  cent,  guaranteed  interest  in  amounts  of  $500  and  its  multiple. 
ONE-HALF  the  net  profits  given  to  purchasers  of  the  bonds. 
Write  for  full  information. 


10  Per  Cent  Syndicate  Investments, 

KANSAS  CITY,  MO.,  REALTY. 

Kansas  City  is  the  best  point  in  America  for  investment.  All 
the  opportunities  of  the  next  ten  years  are  in  the  territory  radi- 
ating around  Kansas  City  for  300  miles.  Send  for  Syndicate 
record. 


GUARANTEED  FIRST  MORTGAGES 

on  Kansas  City  real  estate  always  on  hand,  based  on  an  actual 
selling  price,  principal  and  semi-annual  interest  absolutely  guar- 
anteed, payable  at  maturity,  and  25  per  cent,  deposited  with  the 
American  Loan  and  Trust  Company  of  Boston  as  additional 
security.  No  safer  investment  possible.  Guarantee  limited  to 
amount  of  its  cash  assets.  Amounts  $250  and  upwards. 

WILLIAM  H.  PARMENTER,  General  Agent, 

MASSACHUSETTS  HOSPITAL  'LIFE  INSURANCE  COMPANY  BUILDING, 

So     STATE    STREET,     BOSTON,    MASS. 


WESTERN  OFFICE,  TOPEKA,  KANSAS. 

Paid  Up  Capital  and  Surplus,  $600,000.      Value 
of  Guaranty  Against  Loss,  $1,100,000. 


FARM    AND    CITY    MORTGAGES, 

Principal  and  Interest  Guaranteed. 

.  .  .  AND  .  .  . 

6  per  Cent.  Gold  Debenture  Bonds 

INTEREST  PAYABLE  QUARTERLY. 

A   Deposit   of    $105,000   in   First    Mortgages     placed 
with  the 

Boston  Safe  Deposit  &  Trust  Co. 

as  Trustee,  secures  each  series  of  $100,000  of  Deben- 
ture Bonds. 


SEND  FOR  INVESTOR'S  BOOK. 
1O1  Devonshire   St.,  cor.    Water   St.,  Boston. 

H.  E.  BALL,  President. 

GEO.  C.  MORRELL,  Vice  President. 
B.  R.  WHEELER,  Secretary. 

P.  T.  BARTLETT,  Asst.  Secretary. 


6  Per  Cent  Safe  Investments! 

THE  HEW  HHMIIE  HOST 


-  IST. 
Sears  Building,  201  Washington  St.,  Boston, 

CASH  CAPITAL,       -       $300,000. 

The  liabilities  of  this  Company  are  limited  by  law.  Its  affairs 
are  annually  examined  by  the  Bank  Commissioners,  and  their 
findings  published  in  the  Annual  Bank  Report.  Its  capital  was 
paid  up  in  cash.  Its  stockholders  cannot  borrow  its  funds.  It 
loans  through  SALARIED  EMPLOYES  upon  improved  real  estate 
only.  The  leading  Financial  Institutions  of  New  England  are 
among  its  stockholders. 

Guaranteed  Farm  and  City  First  Mortgages, 

The  Company  offers  for  investment  6  per  cent  First  Mort- 
gages on  Real  Estate  with  its  guaranty,  covering  principal  and 
interest,  in  amounts  from  $200  upwards,  running  from  three  to 
five  years. 

-:SIX    PER    CENT    BONDS:- 

Also  its  otvn  6  per  cent  Bonds  running  10  years,  coupons 
payable  semi-annually,  amounts  from  $100  to  $1000  each.  These 
bonds  besides  being  the  direct  obligation  of  the  Company  are 
'further  secured  by  First  Mortgages  on  real  estate,  pledged  with 
the  Boston  Safe  Deposit  and  Trust  Company  as  Trustee  for  the 
payment  of  these  bonds,  and  for  no  other  purpose.  The  bonds 
are  listed  on  the  Boston  Stock  Exchange  ;  they  can  be  registered 
in  the  owner's  name  if  desired  ;  can  be  held  without  publicity 
and  transferred  without  trouble  ;  they  are  as  safe  as  any  security 
can  be  and  combine  a  good  rate  of  interest  without  the  risk  at- 
tending the  ordinary  Western  investments.  •.  '-  j 

Call  or  Write  for  Circular. 

HIRAM  D.  UPTON,  Treasurer, 

City  Hall  Building,  Manchester,  N.  H. 

LEONARD  P.  FOSTER,  Secretary. 

201  Washington  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 


ELEGANT  AND  USEFUL 


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